Blurred Visions
by LuvEwan
Summary: Ten years after the Phantom Menace, three will find their true destinies. And the ultimate menace will be revealed...OBI/Qui/Ani H/C ANGSTAU
1. The Flames of Jealousy

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Blurred Visions

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Rating: PG-13

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The events of Naboo end far differently. Three struggle to find their true place in a shifting universe, with shadows approaching, and the ultimate menace revealed.

*Disclaimer: The characters and Star Wars universe overall are the sole property of George Lucas. I receive no profit from the writing of these fictions. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter One: _The Flames of Jealousy_

Anakin stalked down the hallway, his short padawan braid whipping behind his shoulder. His eyes were a piercing blue, though the color was almost unrecognizable due to the shadows that constantly hooded them. His long forehead was wrinkled, the space between his brows creased from brooding. His breathing was barely controlled. 

The Temple Healing Wing was pure, bland white. A few generic paintings of scenery hung on the walls. The stillness of late night left everything stunted and silent. Doors were shut and the glow rods were weakened. His steps echoed, and lent the hall a sort of hollowness. In his decade as a Jedi (apprentice), he only occasionally visited this sterile area, the air thick with a medicinal stench. Mostly he could handle the healing of any injuries. He was never ill.

Of course, his lip curled, some weren't as resilient as he.

Anakin stopped his musings. He stopped dead in his tracks when he sensed him.

__

Them.

The apprentice tilted his head, peeking into the medium-sized room. His Force presence was dulled to a mere, distant presence. Not enough for anyone to detect.

Not even his exceptionally skilled master, who once sensed a poisonous insect tinier than the tip of a needle, and caught it with the blade of his lightsabre. 

The man was seated on a hard-backed chair that was bent slightly to accommodate his frame. His large, scarred hand rested against the forehead of the patient, who was clad in a thin, white hospital gown. 

Anakin spared a moment to marvel at his own impressive shielding. Neither Jedi realized they were being watched. Certain he was going unnoticed, the padawan pressed his palm to the doorframe, and listened closely.

"We just returned from Zernin Five. Do you remember the look on the Senator's face when you told him you were allergic to _both_ spices in the dessert you had consumed?" A soft chuckle. "But that was long ago. The senator's hair is snowy now. Well, what's left of it anyway."

Anakin turned away in disgust. Was his master delusional? 

"The healers tell me you actually spit out your medicine. Bant says it went directly onto her face. I would have liked to see that!" The master's shoulders shook slightly with laughter. "If it wasn't for her sweet temperament, I think you would be in trouble."

Anakin's jaw tensed painfully. Through their mental connection, he felt his mentor's emotion. The quiet joy of being reunited with _him_, despite the somewhat dismal surroundings. Skywalker could imagine the gentle gleam of those wizened, midnight blue eyes. The longing bleeding through a ten year resolve.

The hallway light flickered. Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder. Anakin bit down on his tongue and quickly stepped out of view, body rigid against the wall.

Slowly, he sensed the movement of Jinn settling back into his reminiscent state of mind. Anakin released a relieved sigh. He returned to his spying spot.

Qui-Gon was leaning forward in the chair, retrieving a small stone that had dropped in the abrupt scare. He held the delicate thing between two massive fingers, studying it, then raised his arm.

The smooth, red veined rock caught the glare of the dim lamp. From Anakin's vantage point, it appeared to glow beneath the black surface. He noted that it was a peculiar object for his master to be in possession of. Qui-Gon was not one to indulge in knick knacks or souvenirs. And it was just a pebble, wasn't it? Not a jewel or glittering gem. Not of any remote value.

Yet Qui-Gon seemed to treasure it.

Anakin was never truly intimidated by him. The reputation of being a headstrong rogue, often cold, always stern…Even as a dusty slave boy, he was not frightened by the high status. Awed, perhaps, but that gradually wore down to general respect. Anakin dared to challenge the man more than a master was accustomed to. He would argue, shout, or simply ignore Qui-Gon. Yes, Jinn was a great, powerful Jedi.

But so was Anakin.

He wasn't hesitant. He took a few silent steps inside the room.

Now he could clearly see the bed-ridden knight who captivated his master's attention. He was laying with his paled arms at his sides. His ginger hair, only marginally longer than it was a decade before, looked damp. Stray strands were plastered to his face. His eyes were sealed. Soot-hued crescents darkened the skin beneath them. A clear tube trailed up both cheeks to his nostrils. His mouth was half-way open. I.V.'s protruded from the soft flesh of his wrists.

Anakin heard the unrelenting, even beeps from the heart monitor. It was an irritating noise. He almost wished it would stop.

Qui-Gon sighed, folding Obi-Wan's limp fingers around the stone. "I saw it on your nightstand. Bant said she found it in your tunic after they cut it away. I didn't think you would still carry it.

"The report of the mission said the delegate, if you can call him that, aimed for your heart. That you saved yourself by twisting at the final second, so it would only hit your shoulder. You knew the delegate was corrupt. I taught you well. Never trust a politician." His voice tightened. "For someone to take advantage of such a glaring disability---At least he will never be given the chance to hurt another soul. You probably don't know. The report says you were unconscious instantly. A security guard shot him in the back and neck." He brushed his fingers across Kenobi's sealed eyes. "This just proves what I have been stressing to the Council for years. You need some sort of protection."

Anakin couldn't take another sentimental, concerned word. He purposely cleared his throat.

Qui-Gon twisted around. "Padawan. Is something the matter?"

"You weren't at evening meal." He crossed his arms. "You said we were going to work on the droid afterwards."

Realization dawned in the aging face. Jinn stood and walked over to the youth. "I'm sorry, padawan. I stopped by to check on his condition. Then Healer Bant told me he contracted a severe fever---"

"Why does he matter?" The words were sharp and clipped. "I was waiting for you. You _forgot_ about me."

"I have apologized. I was ensuring the well-being of a fellow Jedi." Qui-Gon sat back on the chair, facing away from the fuming Anakin. "And he does matter." He added quietly.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Qui-Gon swallowed with an audible click. "Go home. Meditate on the dangers of envy. I'll be along in a moment."

Anakin stalked away with an angry huff.

The master heard the sound of several pictures slamming to the floor.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

His room was laden with trophies and miscellaneous mechanical bits. Droid parts were scattered across the floor. Anakin kicked them out of his path, collapsing onto his sleepcouch. He stared up at the ceiling. Model cloud cars and ships were suspended mid-air by white, thinly coated thread. He sighed, closing his eyes.

The visage of Padme Amidala immediately sprung to his mind. Whenever he was frustrated, infuriated, she appeared. Not in the ornate trappings of a Naboo queen, but the simple, long braids of a handmaiden. Smiling at him in Watto's shop, her gaze devoid of the usual pity he had encountered as an enslaved person. The warmth of the blanket she wrapped around him in the frigid spaceship, offering comfort in her perfect way.

Padme.

Then, the compassionate look she had given Obi-Wan in the bustling Naboo emergency center. Taking his hand, her brown eyes watering. The Jedi had not been awake to witness the precious present bestowed him. Anakin had been livid. 

Master Qui-Gon was right. Anakin knew much of envy.

And if his teacher were to discover these feelings, he would be appalled. No one was allowed to think an unkind word toward Kenobi. To do so was not only un-Jedi like, but inhumane. After all, the knight suffered daily.

Anakin did too. Where was his support?

His wrath intensified. The plight of a Tatooine slave turned Jedi was insignificant beside that of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The entire Temple acted as if he were the first in the Order to ever be blinded.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

**__**

Ten Years Earlier

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The elegantly carved doors slid open, revealing a vision born of grisly nightmares. Thick yellow horns emerged from a hairless, red and black head.

Initially, Obi-Wan believed it to be some incredibly effective mask. 

But no, the tattoos covered every inch, the ink drenched into each pore. Demon eyes, saffron with the bloom of blood-red surrounding the pupils, stared at the Jedi.

Qui-Gon had vividly described the creature after his jarring encounter among the sweeping sands of Tatooine. Words, however, could not rightly illustrate the horror before him.

The presence of it, the Sith, was attempting to poison his soul. He felt the evil closing in around him. Raw, uncontrollable hatred pulsed in the dark one. Desire burned in the shriveled organ beating inside his chest.

Obi-Wan looked away, a cool bead of sweat snaking down his forehead. Amid the chaos erupting in the Force, he heard the calm voice of the man beside him.

"We'll handle this." The message anchored him. He was not alone.

Instantly, he was shedding the comforting weight his cloak provided, letting it drop. Obi-Wan reached for his weapon, running his fingers absently across the familiar grooves of the hilt. Without a glance, he knew Qui-Gon had done the same. 

In eerie unison, the four blades ignited.

Apprehension lanced through Obi-Wan's stomach. The foreboding, shadowy dreams and subtle, warning waves in the Force…it was all leading to this terrible moment. The apprentice's eyes fell to the ground, shiny to the point of reflective, and saw his own face. He was disturbed by the uncertainty beating in his features.

Then, the time was gone. The battle began.

~~~

Padme paused to impatiently shove a stray lock of mahogany hair from her eyes. Blaster bolts shot cleanly by, the copious streaks creating a strange sort of zig-zag as they were set off from different angles. A tortured, surprised cry assaulted her ears.

She pressed against the icy pillar, couldn't prevent the errant thought from passing through her flustered mind: My fault.

Perhaps the cynics had been correct all along. Naboo, that wondrous world that was her home, deserved a more sage, experienced leader. Not a fourteen year old girl who had yet to shed the last thin layer of youthful naivete. She had known malice, written in the history books she devoured, but they were stories of the past. Padme Amidala had not been aware these Federation villains would so readily stain their hands with the blood of her people.

Her mental deliberations were cut short, as a bolt sped toward her. She let out a yelp, ducking. The ball of fiery energy was embedded in her chest.

As she collapsed, Padme wondered if the searing agony had caused the strange fluttering of her heart.

~~~~

Qui-Gon dodged another strike. He found that his suspicions were valid. This warrior was intensely skilled in the Jedi arts. Yet, the trademark movements were twisted with an alien ruthlessness. When the Sith swung his double-sided lightsabre, the red, humming blade coming towards Obi-Wan's head, the master understood what was needed to secure a victory. 

They could not hold back.

He came at the dark figure with a savagely hard kick. His foot smashed into the concealed face. The Sith was only moderately affected, though, and managed to knick Obi-Wan's arm in the process.

Then, suddenly, a loud alarm sounded in the Force. It drove its plea to the core of Qui-Gon. The queen. 

And, without even a syllable of explanation to his apprentice, he set off in a blur.

Obi-Wan spared a second to catch his departure. The Sith swept his sabre at the Jedi's feet. 

The young man flipped over the horned head and struck at the powerful weapon.

One of the blades was shorted out.

Obi-Wan could not react to the small win. He continued his offensive.

They fought, traveling through the hangar into the power center. Their steps clattered against the metal flooring. The padawan tried to catch his opponent in the chest, but was thrown back by a Force push. He fell down several levels, and landed with a resounding thud. 

Obi-Wan lay there, the blinding lights in his eyes. He was aware of the shattered bone screaming in his left leg.

He couldn't move.

The Sith jumped swiftly down.

~~~~~

Rab`e pulled Padme gently behind the pillar. Her maroon, velvet uniform was drenched in perspiration. Tears poured from her widened eyes. "My lady---"

"No." Padme ground out from grit teeth. "Don't call me that."

Rab`e nodded, pressing her delicate fingers to the sovereign's neck. An unsteady pulse moved beneath them. She breathed. "It's going to be okay. The battle has moved away from us." She smiled sadly. "Everyone still thinks its Sab`e." She glanced up, and a thankful grin graced her face. "It's the Jedi master."

Qui-Gon crouched beside the girls. He took in the sight of the bleeding wound. Gingerly, he pulled away the ripped material, and inspected the damage. "This is not as serious as it appears. Do not worry." 

Padme sealed her eyes. Her voice was tiny, and wobbly from pain. "Yes, but how many are dying for Naboo, while I live?" 

~~~~~

Obi-Wan's chest heaved. The Sith stalked around his prone body, lightsabre gripped between black, painted fingers. 

The tormenting injury to his leg drained his strength, and Obi-Wan could only weakly turn his head away. He reached out through the Force, and grappled for that special tendril, the signature of his master. 

But then the Sith spoke. "Return to your pathetic Temple. Allow the others to see what we are capable of---and what you are not."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and watched the blade descend, scraping across them. He opened his mouth to scream…was unconscious before he was able.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Master Yoda wrapped his small, wrinkled hands around his gimer stick. He sat on a round, plush chair. The closed blinds could not keep out all the light. His face was striped with shadows. The light breeze rustled the white wisps of hair at the crown of his head. His elfin ears trembled slightly.

Nothing was as it should be.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon observed the rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest, entranced by the sheer predictability, while his mind wandered.

He recalled the many, many nights spent this way. Waiting for the flicker of life to surface. Something beyond the simple mechanics of breathing. There were times when he could not handle the sleepless hours, and drifted off. He would wake with a stiff neck and sore back, but a padawan who would be looking at him curiously. And that's all that mattered in the end. To have the health of Obi-Wan restored was a sweet blessing.

Just because he was no longer his master did not necessarily mean the rule was void.

Qui-Gon's focus lifted to the flushed face. He frowned, and placed his palm to Obi-Wan's forehead again. The heat was flaring now.

In the brighter days of his life, Jinn would solve spiking temperatures easily. He would tenderly connect with his apprentice through their mental link, and lead him into a healing trance. Half an hour later, the fever would dissipate.

Now, he could not consider that type of relief for him. Not only would he disrupt his sleep, which was crucial to any recovery, but it would invade Obi-Wan's deepest privacy. 

Qui-Gon couldn't afford to lose another scrap of the knight's trust.

If he had any at all.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme was typing at her massive, stylized desk when the chime signaled an arrival outside her door. The Senator stood, straightening her long, blue gown. A cerulean, beaded trim decorated the sides. Her hair was curled, and held at the top of her head by two crystal sticks. She hurried to accept the visitor. 

Queen Jamilla stood in the hall, bracketed by guards. She smiled. "Good morning, Senator."

Padme gave a quick curtsy. "And Good morning, my Queen. What brings you here so early? _It can only be bad news. There is little else._

The royal looked over Padme's shoulder into the spacious apartment. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" She stepped aside, and with a sweep of her arms, invited the trio inside.

Jamilla settled on a velvet couch, decorated with richly red swirls. "I have been informed the troubles with the underground kidnappings have escalated. The authorities have asked for your assistance?"

Padme nodded, sitting across from her on a wooden chair with legs that curved outward at the ends. She placed her folded hands on her lap. "Yes. They communicated their distress. There are now nearly thirty reported."

"How are they linking them?"

"Similar circumstances. Men with relatively normal backgrounds, well-built and intelligent. Many have been in some sort of armed Force. They disappear without any way of trailing them." She suddenly found a piece of art on her wall interesting, studying it to avoid the gaze of the Queen. The Queen, decked in the fashion of office. What she had enjoyed such a short while ago…

Jamilla did not divert her attentions. "How have they gathered suspects?"

Padme returned her eyes to the other, reluctantly. "One prisoner escaped. He told the authorities his captors were---using a mind wiping machine---to erase their captives' memories."

The Queen gasped. "On Naboo these devices exist?!"

"Apparently. The man also talked of extensive training. With varying types of weapons. Blasters, daggers, vibro-shivs." 

"Have you formulated any possible plans, Senator Amidala?"

Padme pursed her lips. Her thoughts were tainted with the picture of sand. And a small jporsnip charm given by a warm, little, grubby hand. The light of the chandelier pooled in the lines of her face. "I have."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant emptied the contents of the syringe into the I.V. She was aware of Jinn's eyes on her. Watching, as if he were waiting for her to fumble. But she was a good healer. Careful, especially with her most beloved patient. "This should lower his temperature soon." She brushed pale pink fingers through Obi-Wan's wet hair.

Qui-Gon nodded.

Bant glanced at the man. His brows were arched the way she remembered whenever his apprentice had been in peril. Then she had held faith in his worry, for his affections were obvious in the hours spent at a quiet bedside. He never spoke the words her friend wanted to hear, not really. But Obi-Wan understood Jinn's nature. Bant did not.

"Um, Master Jinn." She spoke in her ever-shy voice. "Are you going to stay with him all night?"

Qui-Gon's posture straightened. "Would that be agreeable with you?"

The Mon-Calamarian hesitated. How would Obi-Wan react? She could conjure the tragedy visibly, of her dear companion waking to find the man who had left him to be blinded. Bant crossed her arms, and summoned the courage needed to defend Kenobi. She was accustomed to it now. "No."

Qui-Gon was taken aback. Hurt flashed passed his face. Then, he pulled himself together, in the fast, seamless way a Jedi was trained to, so that not the faintest trace of trauma was evident. He looked at Obi-Wan once more, his eyes lingering on the sleeping knight, as if to imprint the moment in his mind. He breathed in, and met Bant's questioning…what it a glare? "I didn't mean for this---to happen. The Force-" He whispered. "It speaks to me. I cannot abandon it."

Bant lifted her chin slightly. "When it spoke to you---that day. Did it tell you you needed to abandon him?"

But Qui-Gon could not answer that. Any response withered in his throat. He stood there dumbly, not moving to leave, not entering her debate. 

"Please." She placed a soft hand on his forearm. "I'm not the little girl you knew. He's not the little boy you raised. Jedi can't hold onto their innocence. Just tell me." There was a strange longing to her message.

Qui-Gon shuddered inwardly. "He's not the little boy I raised."

Silence followed, and Bant shook her head in agreement. Jinn realized she was much older, though she stood far below his shoulder, and still possessed the slender frame of her youth.

But she was still young. There was a freshness to her pretty face and hair, no wrinkles marring the area around her eyes. Yet.

"Does he hate me? He asked in a desperate, hoarse voice. 

She parted her light salmon lips to reply when one of the numerous monitors began beeping.

The healer trotted over to it, and quickly scanned the information. She sighed, a hand going momentarily to her heart. 

Qui-Gon took a step closer.

Bant actually smiled at him. "His fever is broken."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

He walked along the dunes, his bare and callused feet sinking into the hot, coarse grains so his trek was sluggish. The sun burned brightly, and he ascended his vision.

The sky was stunningly clear. He searched for a cloud of imperfection, but in vain. A thin, weary smile touched his parched lips.

He walked on.

The hills of sand were undisturbed, the air still. His shifting made small, oddly pleasant noises. He could admit he loathed silence.

Ahead, he spotted a figure, settled among the tan mounds. The stranger turned at the other's approach.

He threw a hand up to shade his eyes, for the glare hindered his view.

His breath caught.

I'm not alone!

He raced toward the man, as he knew deeply that it was, eyes lit with sweet, shaky relief.

He stopped scantly two inches from where his companion, his dear friend for so very long, was settled. The security of their bond filled and buoyed him.

"I'm not alone." He declared in a soft, melodious tone.

The man lifted his head.

Obi-Wan grinned. Moisture cleaned streaks down his grimy cheeks. 

Qui-Gon seemed to look past him, transfixed by the horizon.

"I'm not alone." Obi-Wan repeated, a little insistent that he be heard, or at least acknowledged. 

Qui-Gon locked his gaze with him. A plethora of experience, knowledge, love was welled in his gleaming eyes. 

Then, his solid form was reduced to sand, and was caught in a sudden, fierce wind. The force carried the particles away in a loosely uniform swirl.

"No!" Obi-Wan cried breathlessly, lunging forward, arms flailing, trying to capture any of the remains of the cherished man.

But they were melded with the unforgiving atmosphere.

His eyes rose once more to that distant, fiery star. Black smoke tendrils coiled around it.

Obi-Wan's brows knit, cracked mouth trembling. 

The phantom shadows tightened around the sun, and he realized faintly that there were two balls of smoldering energy. The resplendent rays were engulfed.

Darkness fell, like a silent, smothering curtain.

Obi-Wan crashed to his knees. He couldn't see. Despite the prior heat, his tears froze to fragile crystals upon his divine, mournful face.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin lifted his head from his knees when the door opened. He saw who stood there, and promptly turned his sullen eyes down again.

Qui-Gon crossed sturdy arms across a broad chest. "This doesn't _remotely_ resemble meditating."

Anakin's mouth was in a clenched line.

The master stepped inside. "I do not give orders for them to be ignored." He scanned the messy, dim quarters and sighed. "And we _will_ need to discuss what you said." 

The boy began to play with the tip of his braid, ratting the pale blonde edges.

Qui-Gon frowned. The habit was minor, he supposed, but it was disrespecting the symbol of a sacred Jedi partnership. He thought briefly of the silky ginger strands, never mussed by idle fingers…

__

No.

"I never mean to slight you. If I have done so, albeit accidentally, then I apologize." He sat on the sleepcouch's side, sliding a pile of rusty mechanical rings aside. "I understand if you are upset. I _did_ forget about our plans here. Sometimes distractions---detours---are unavoidable."

Anakin snuffed. "Then why am I taught to stay focused at all costs? Does this lesson alter for masters?" It was less an inquiry than an acid accusation. And, as usual, he was supremely confident.

Qui-Gon stared down at his hands. This was the single person in this enormous, spanning Temple that he could not always look in the eye.

__

Well, perhaps one of two.

"No---"

"Then what's your excuse?!" The enraged youth snapped.

Jinn stood, his hands pressed to his hips. Anger built in his throat. "I never off you excuses." He said thickly. "Only the truth."

In cool anti-climax, he walked from the room. 

Never realizing that in the whole conversation, the argument, he had never so much as uttered 'padawan' or even 'apprentice'. 

Anakin noticed.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant leaned back against the hard support of the infirmary chair. Clad in her loose healer smock, she was comfortable. The lighting in the room had been lowered to a warm, amber luminescence. 

Her eyes drooped. Her head began to loll to her shoulder…

"Mmph."

She sat up rim-rod straight.

Obi-Wan's eyes were still closed, long lashed against skin of sickly pallor. But she didn't rely on those orbs, continually beautiful though they were, to communicate anything. 

Her chest was pained at the observation.

Bant brushed a small hand through his hair. "Obi?"

He moaned, throwing his arm up and grasping her wrist. "I found you." He murmured groggily.

Her nose didn't so much as crinkle. She was accustomed to the strange, drug-muddled mumbling from waking patients. "Yes. You've found me. Now wake up." She urged in her soft, gentle way.

Obi-Wan's fingers trailed to his face, feeling for the foreign object he sensed there. His movements were fast and careful, self-trained in this sort of investigation. He ran his fingers along the thin tube, stopped when he touched his nose.

Bant waited for her friend to relax, then stroked his forearm. "You're at the Temple. Home."

He breathed in, his exhale an uneven sigh. "Heal---ers?"

"Yes."

"Then I suppose I'm…home."

She chuckled. 

"Bant?"

She started to nod, but caught herself. "Yes. It's me. You found me."

Obi-Wan smiled dreamily. _I wasn't looking for you._ The last foggy remnants of his nightmare dissipated. "Tired."

Stroking. "You sound like it." She felt him drifting toward the oblivion of healing sleep again.

"Hmmph….'lone."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Palpatine held the short, steel, triangular piece up, then released it, observing it swing in perfect time.

Once began, it could not stop.

He was the deciding factor. Only his fingers could guide it.

The Chancellor preferred things that way. He quite enjoyed being the match that ignited great, devastating flames. _Power._ His skin prickled.

A sharp buzz announced his next appointment. His withered lips curled.

"Jedi Anakin Skywalker to see you, sir." A voice reverberated from the desk speaker.

"Send him in." He glanced over at the pendulum as it worked. _To and fro…_

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon was a blur as he flew down the corridors. He had helped the Queen, whose face was draining of its color, to an emergency transport. The war, short and bloody, was over. Padme Amidala trained the handmaiden Sab'e well. The double had single handedly fooled the viceroy. Eirt'e, yet another of the royal's assistance, had come running with the news. Seeing the heartbreak and fear in her, and through the Force, was awful, as she surveyed the damage done to her close friend.

But Jinn could not have forfeited another second to them, now in the hands of capable physicians. He sped toward where he had left Obi-Wan heavy in the Sith battle.

After rounding the final corner, he stopped.

The area was empty.

Still clinging to his faith in his apprentice's abilities, he delved deeper into the palace, to the power generator.

He was confronted by an abundance of glinting silver. And a disconcerting silence in their psychological link. 

He risked speaking. "Obi-Wan?!" He examined the room, peering down at the lower levels.

There. Visible from under a steel pathway was the tip of a brown, leather boot.

His heart sank. "Obi-Wan!" He leaped without thought, down several feet. He landed easily on his feet.

Just ahead, lay his padawan.

A split second passed, then he was crouched beside the body.

Obi-Wan was sprawled, unmoving, on the icy floor. One leg at an unnatural angle. His arms were spread. His creamy tunic singed.

But that was not all.

Qui-Gon moved his attention to the slack face. He gasped, a weak little sound emitting from him. The skin surrounding and covering his eyes was charred and mottled with shades of maroon and black. A red shine was a tell-tale feature of a lightsabre burn. 

"No…padawan…Obi-W…" Any verbal reaction died. He slid a steady arm beneath Obi-Wan's back , gently lifting him to the master's chest. 

The weight of the form was different, limp and uncooperative. With difficulty, he held the injured apprentice against himself, assessing his condition. It was not good.

And he was too terrified to move him.

Eyes awash with bitter tears, he huddled on the floor, his most beloved friend, his family and soul, in his arms.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

He studied the hand, how the glint of the lamp pooled in the metal grooves. When he bent the faux fingers, he heard the familiar mechanical din. Orange glowed beneath the surface.

He found this replacement for the original, lost in a brawl long before, to be intimidating. He noted that most eyes immediately went to it, despite their attempts at low-key observation. When their focus journeyed back to his face, there was unfailingly a change there. Not quite respect…Fear.

Exactly how he preferred it.

He curled his hand into a fist. His jaw tensed.

__

Wanted it.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan's next awakening was more lucid. The pain remained hovering above him like a mist, thinly tangible but felt on a faint level. He took a moment to affirm his surroundings.

The knight breathed in. He listed the entirely too familiar stenches of bacta, sanitizing angents and generic floral deodorizers. 

He smirked. _Bant._ The thoughtful Mon-Calamarian never failed to slip some sort of personal effect into his room. Still, the few spurts of perfumed air freshener couldn't completely mask the healer wing aromas he openly despised.

At least he would always recognize this place.

Obi-Wan noted happily the weight of the oxygen tube was gone. The same could not be said for those trailing out of his wrists. "Blasted I.V.'s." He grumbled. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been lined with foul tasting sand paper. He smacked his lips, swallowed with difficulty, then grimaced.

On cue, he heard the door slide open.

The smell of salt and sweet, wild bangi berry.

"Thirsty?" Bant shook a water pitcher.

Obi-Wan heard the ice clatter. He smiled in weary appreciation. "How is it---that you can read my mind?"

She laid her fingers against his cheek. "Well that's simple, Obi. I can't. But , during your frequent stays here, guess what's the first thing you unfailingly ask for?"

He opened his mouth only to have her muffle the coming words. "Shh. Just drink."

She lifted his head and dipped it a fraction back. A plastic straw was placed on his tongue.

He sipped the cool liquid, relief trickling into his dry mouth.

Bant waited patiently for him to down his fill, then settled him on the pillows. She pulled up a chair, attention never wavering from her patient and friend.

Obi-Wan's lips were glistening. Stubble stood out on his lower face. His hair had been combed back during her last visit, but now fell unnoticed into his eyes.

His eyes. Once bright, cerulean energy. Now dim and without focus.

Fighting against a sudden stab of sorrow and surrealism, she took his hand. "How are you?"

Obi-Wan sighed, squeezing the fingers enclosed by his. Then, he reached out, searching for her face.

She shakily guided him.

He explored the smooth skin.

__

I remember. It was pale pink, the color of early sunset.

Bant held back a hitched breath. Sobs tightened in her chest.

Knowingly, the callused pads of his fingers moved beneath her eyes. Hot moisture met his innocent, probing touch.

Obi-Wan gently wiped her tears away.

She shivered before collapsing against him. "I love you." It was all she could say. A useless confession, for their affections never needed to be voiced. A platonic bond existed between the two, maintained over the tumultuous course of almost three decades. Yet, the quiet phrase elicited a heavy exhale from the sightless Kenobi.

He brought his arms around her slighter frame, his head nestled on the curve of her neck.

For a blissful moment, they reveled in the embrace.

Then, Obi-Wan smelled the masculine scent of mild spice. His forehead creased.

Bant broke away.

He heard her quick, inexplicable departing footsteps.

Obi-Wan sat up and propped his back on the wall. He listened closely, allowing everything else to fall from his immediate awareness.

"I asked you to keep your distance. He is a very weak." A small hesitation. "I have decided it is in his best interest if you remain outside of this area."

He gasped. The new presence…In the Force, this person had blazed a permanent mark upon Obi-Wan's psyche. He knew who Bant was attempting to be rid of. His suddenly quaking hands gripped the blanket.

__

No. I can't----No. He has to go…

Panicked, he grappled for the quickest solution. Raising a palm, he shoved the door closed.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Palpatine sat in his chair, the back high and composed of an expensive, and therefore impressive, material. He formed a steeple with wrinkled, pale fingers. "Sit, if you prefer sir."

Anakin could not masquerade his pleased expression at the title. For once, he wasn't preferred to as 'padawan' or merely 'apprentice'. "Thank you."

The Chancellor rubbed the loosened skin around his eyes. "It has not been long since our last meeting. The rigors of Jedi life bore you?"

Skywalker actually appeared to sneer at that. "Rigors? I spend the majority of my time waiting around. Practicing on levels I have already surpassed. Listening to advice from inferiors."

"Like who?" The gravelly voice was tinted by curiosity.

"Oh, only every other Jedi in the Temple." He complained. "I don't think they realize---"

"What you are?" Palpatine finished, his eyebrows arched.

Anakin slumped his shoulders and nodded.

The aging man chuckled, but there was a dark, unsettling mirth behind the sound. "Of course they do not. Who would readily recognize those superincumbent to themselves? Even Jedi possess stubborn egos. You will always encounter jealousy."

"As my master sees it, I create jealousy of my own." He said under his breath.

This sparked further interest. "Really?"

Shadows flitted over blue eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if he still believes what he told me. For the first years, he never outright said it."

"What?" Palpatine subtly pressed.

"That I was the Chosen One, and meant for greater things than the other Jedi. Even him."

"Who?"

Anakin went on as if he hadn't registered the inquiry. "It wasn't in words. But there was this sense of pride whenever he regarded me. I knew that he still had faith---in me. Now, I question him regularly. He's…"

"Intimidated?"

The youth stared back at the elder. His heart was a stinging wound every time he thought of his master's growing devotion to---him. The Chancellor's explanation was easier to accept. Perhaps Qui-Gon, the wise and respected Master Jinn, _was_ afraid of his padawan's extreme potential. Everyone else was. "Do you think so?" He asked, a scintilla of uncertainty lingering in his mind.

Palpatine smiled. "Anakin, my friend, you know your abilities are---phenomenal. You, in your scant time in the Jedi Temple, have surpassed anyone in the Order in recent memory. And beyond that. You rival Master Yoda," His lip curled, "And challenge your own teacher. It musk irk the Council so that a slave boy-raised outside of their protective walls-could surmount their ranks. They…fear you."

Anakin shifted uncomfortably in his leather seat. His delight at the statement was quickly dashed by a grim revelation. "No. They don't all fear me."

"Oh?"

"_He_ does not."

The man's somewhat cheerful expression dissolved into a grimace. "You need not speak his name, friend. I have heart it rolled off the tongues of some of the Order's finest bleeding hearts more than I'd like to think. The honor profusely showered upon him is nothing but overblown sympathy. He could not defeat a mere apprentice to the Sith, even to save his own sight. Instead of being reprimanded for his inadequacies, he is sheltered like an injured cub." He shook his head in disgust. "You are far better than _he._" Inwardly, Palpatine grinned, despite the fact he was lying through his yellowing teeth.

Skywalker smiled smugly. "If only my master would realize that."

The Chancellor turned away from the apprentice then, gazing out at the Coruscant skyline. He imagined his true protégé, somewhere in the span of that bustling cityscape, oblivious to the coming changes. "If only, my friend."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme Amidala stood at her balcony. Encompassing her was the breathtaking scenery of Naboo. Lush greenery and vibrant waters. Gorgeous flowers bloomed in clusters. The sun beat down gently upon it all.

She studied the pure blue sky. Cloudless, like that of Tatooine.

For some reason, she found herself smiling. Her fingers curled around the smooth gold railing. Those days were fresh, crisp as if they had occurred yesterday. She could effortlessly recall the messy cap of straw-colored hair, and wide, innocent eyes. The eyes of a child---But Anakin Skywalker was a child no more. 

Then she shook her head, the action accompanied by the harmonious cry of a snow white kosda bird. Why did a brief encounter ten years ago tug this persistently at her?

She was half a decade his senior. And, not to mention, she was a Senator.

__

He is a Jedi. He has forgotten all about you.

How wrong she was.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon watched the bubbles rise to the top of the gel-like substance. They collected in a circle before popping. The cycle immediately repeated.

He sealed his eyes with a gasp. The room was darkened, the single green light from the bacta tank providing little. The master paced, ignoring the sore beat of tired muscles. Various monitors worked noisily, but he couldn't hear them. 

Occasionally, he glanced up at the form floating in the clear tube. Obi-Wan's body was bare, save for bandage cloth wrapped tight around his private area. His skin reflected the sickly lime hue of the bacta, though the actual paleness of him was evident. He was oblivious to the crumbling life around him.

His leg, broken in several places, would heal. Qui-Gon had been concerned, but not too worried about that. Over the duration of his apprenticeship, Kenobi had endured a hefty share of such injuries. He always bounced back.

But not this time.

Qui-Gon forced himself to finally study the marred flesh of the handsome face. It was improving from its original, horrifying appearance, but outward was not his major anxiety. The damage done to his eyes was a different matter, not easily fixed. 

Tiredly, Jinn sat on a plastic stool. His head fell to his hands. How he wanted to shout his anger, for the Force had betrayed him that day in the Theed Palace. His duty was to the Queen, but why must his oath to the Code harm his dear padawan? Was that life-giving entity so cruel?

He walked to the tank, and flattened both his large hands against the cool surface. "Obi-Wan." He rested his forehead, and, if not for the separating tank, would have touched it to his apprentice's. "I did not wish to see you hurt. I could not tune out the Force." Tears formed in his eyes. "I---do not know what else to say." 

The hulking figure sunk to the floor, sobs ripping from his lungs. 

It was hours before he was composed enough to return to his miserable perch from the stool.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan focused squarely on the door area, tuning in to the Force so he could sense even a wraith's movement. His hands remained in taut fists, teeth clenched painfully. His breaths seemed to echo in the tense quiet.

For the umpteenth time during this dark, melancholy decade, he sorely wished he could see more than a veil of pure, thick black. 

He heard a quick swoosh, and choked back an apprehensive cry. _Who's coming?!_

Footsteps, light and brisk, approached. His nostrils were filled with the aromatic signature of Bant. Obi-Wan sighed, finally releasing the blankets from his sweaty grip. 

The door closed.

The knight slumped back down to his pillows. Perspiration beaded his forehead. He felt rather hot, a tad faint. "What---"

"I'm sorry." Bant answered instantly. "I told him to leave before and---"  


"He was here before?" The question was offhand, as Obi-Wan tried to project indifference.

The bed creaked. Bant was now sitting at his side. "While you were unconscious. He stayed a long time. Then I asked him to leave." She paused. "That's what you would have wanted, right?"

Obi-Wan bit his bottom lip, useless cerulean eyes appearing to be staring at the plain, spackling white wall. Silly notions floated through his thoughts. _What if I talked to him?_

Then, that wall slammed down. Erected of steel and borne of angry hurt, its purpose to shield him from…well, _him._

Bant smoothed his hair, that always stood out in spikes, rebellious of her efforts. "That's what I thought."

Obi-Wan nodded. He closed his eyes and contemplated slipping away again.

To sleep.

To that bleary, void place. Incoherent. So he could not hear the voices, whispering sharply that his life was a poison he forced down his friends' unwilling throats. _Burden. Blind._

It was Bant who brought him back before he could being to go. "I think you'll be ready to return home tomorrow." 

He smiled, ignoring the growing ache in his temples. "In your medical opinion?"

She laughed. "In my medical opinion, you should become a permanent resident." Her inflection softened. Her thumb rubbed his palm. "Personally, I don't want to subject you to it. You're still closest to my heart, even if you're not always around."

Guilt flooded him, and he grasped her hand. His days consisted of mundane missions that existed only to prove he was not 'out of commission'. Nights were ghosted by an intricately tattooed face, its glowing yellow and blood-stained eyes extinguishing his own sight. Little was reserved for trips to the healing level. "I try, Bant. I---do what I can."

The irritated flush drained from her cheeks. One look at this man, a stranger to his former self, and she was humbled. "I know." She smiled, and it killed her to know he was unaware.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

He pressed the crisp credits to his nose, smelling the distinctness of them. The scent only procured through years of being exchanged by oily hands. A smile broke onto his rough, unshaven face. 

Two dead businessmen.

One extremely satisfied client.

A quite pleasing equation, especially since the product of said equation was enough to buy him the sleek cloud car he'd been eyeing. And no hit man to deal a share out to.

He opened the desk drawer, and placed the stack of green bills in as if they were fragile glass sheets. He shut and activated the digital locks. After brief mulling, he shackled the mechanical ones on as well.

The man folded his hands to the back of his head. His 'office' was a smallish gray cube, with block walls and a noisy ceiling fan. Of course, he had a more impressive stead, near the country. 

He grunted. _Everywhere in this damn planet is country. _Yawning, he stood and lazily strode to the room adjoined. 

He immediately grimaced. "Ugh, rank!" He recognized the pungent stench. Vomit was pooled in one crumbling corner. Not too far from that was a man, curled into a ball, shaking. With the pathetic fool's shirt shredded, the other could see the ripple of muscles. Perfect for certain profitable…deeds. "You look like a bounty hunter, for the gods' sake."

He gave the suffering figure a kick. "You could probably kill me a government official. Hell, maybe a Jedi!"

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The kitchen was dark. Qui-Gon hid his eyes with a hand, his massive form hunched over the table. 

Bant, gentle, understanding Bant, the child who warmed his heart to a certain insecure padawan, had told him to leave. Forbid him to stay.

And Obi-Wan, his cherished companion for years he now considered the best of his life, had not uttered a word to him since that destined day in the hospital. He had looked so weak then, not at all the formidable warrior Qui-Gon had taught. Just a mere boy, pale in a stiff nightgown. 

But Anakin was supposed to fill that gaping hole. He was never to think of that icy departing line Obi-Wan had imparted upon him. Not again.

Shaking his head with a shudder, he moved to the refridgerator. Jinn shoved aside a few covered containers and a thermos. A relieved grin cracked his lamenting expression.

He unscrewed the cork, and swallowed a long, bitter draught. After a few repeats, Obi-Wan was melded together with his other woes, thinning to a fine haze cleared by the liquor's miracle effects.

It felt good.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme sat at her desk, a sleek oval top of Naboo's finest wood. The sides were carved so that cherubs were holding it up with chubby hands and plump arms. Her office was quietly elegant, the walls painted to resemble the Naboo landscape. Her light pink gown fit to her thin frame. Silk flowers trailed down the garment, spilling out at the bottom to form a breathtaking ring. A simple scarf of the same color and fabric was tied loosely around her neck. Two tiny sprays of baby's breath held deep brown hair back from her temples.

Her cold, sweaty hands were clasped tightly together.

For all she knew, Anakin Skywalker could have never attained his dream, despite Master Jinn's valiant efforts. 

Or worse, he could be back on that sunburned land. The cruel, lawless world of Tatooine. 

Releasing a breath, and momentarily sealing her eyes, the Senator pushed the holorecorder's play button.

The red light blinked to life before her.

For a split second, she was stalled, mouth open.

Then the nervous schoolgirl fell away, to make sufficient room for the politician. She leveled her gaze, cleared her throat, and began:

"Chancellor Palpatine. You have always held our planet close to your heart, and offered every protection possible. Now, I must again call on you. On behalf of Queen Jamilla…On behalf of our people. You are a valued friend of mind. That you must already know." A small smile. "And I believe it is in Naboo's best interest if-"

She hesitated then, the words fighting emission, before they came pouring out in a slurry. "If you dispatch Jedi to aid in our kidnapping epidemic. Local authorities have been unsuccessful. Ileana Zimn, once married to the suspected ringleader, has agreed to aid our investigation. Though she has proved to be vital, the influence of Jedi upon the situation would increase our chance of foiling this underground system." Her chestnut eyes darted to the floor, so near to closing the lashes brushed her cheeks. For all her professional training, she couldn't bare to look directly into a mere recorder anymore. "I eagerly await your response."

Padme shut off the machine. _More than you know._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Ileana grasped his hands with hers, both pairs held at shoulder height. Their lips pressed. But it was not a delicate or tender experience. Sizzling, red-hot passion pulsed through the stale air. He pulled her to him, and she could feel the firmness of sculpted muscle. 

"You haven't told that Senator broad anything, right?" He gruffly asked between kisses.

Her mouth upturned. A lock of reddish hair fell into her face. Light blue eyes sparkled lovingly. "Not anything accurate."

He grinned.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Anakin wiped at his nose with a tiny, fisted hand. Black circles rimmed his lower eyes. He had spent days in this smelly, boring place. Hours upon hours, just sitting on a plastic chair, sucking on complimentary lollipops. The artificial fruit flavor was growing tiresome. When would he get to go back to that wizard Temple again? Couldn't they just leave the other Jedi behind? What good was he now anyway?  


He shifted, folding his short legs so that his knees touched his chest. He rested his chin on them, head titled. The boy sighed. 

In all the time spent here, he had been left in the empty waiting area, unless Master Qui-Gon decided it was alright for him to stay in the private room.

But that wasn't good either. A bunch of annoying beeps and bloops, nurses coming in and out. And not even a single holo-zine to read. The older man would try speaking with him in polite (boring) conversation, though he was visibly distracted.

Then there was the worst part of all. Seeing the apprentice laying there, with that weird bandage wrapped around his eyes. All those tubes hooked to him, like he was a machine or something. 

It was just a burn, wasn't that what everyone had told him? 

That was easy enough to fix. 

It really shouldn't have taken this long!

Qui-Gon must have read his mind, because he suggested Anakin should go and rest in the other room. 

Anakin begrudgingly obeyed. 

Now he was here, looking at the wall, waiting.

He didn't understand what spell the padawan had placed on everyone. Didn't they know he_ was the Chosen One? Qui-Gon was going to give Obi-Wan up, for a boy without training of any kind! A slave. That made Anakin better than him, even though Obi-Wan always regarded him with a snotty air. _He's just jealous.

Then, he heard the swoosh of material against the ground. He leaned forward to discover who was approaching.

His heart leapt into his throat. He stood up straight and beamed.

Padme was here!

Clad in a gray, beaded dress, the sovereign was walking right toward him.

Anakin resisted the incredible urge to jump up and down. 

But , she suddenly stopped.

At Obi-Wan Kenobi's door.

Her slender hand went to her mouth, stifling a vocal reaction. Moisture trickled from her widened eyes. She was shaking her head.

The boy took a step forward.

Padme looked up, catching sight of him.

He offered a weak, uncertain smile, a little wave.

Her head bowed. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Anakin returned to his chair and plopped down, continually entranced by her. Agony lanced through his chest. I can feel her pain. She's hurting! _His lips quivered. His eyes narrowed. He looked beyond her, at the sleeping knight. Rage erupted in a fiery blush on his cheeks._

His fault.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Abruptly, Obi-Wan began to thrash and moan.

Qui-Gon frowned. "Obi-Wan?" 

The handsome features twisted. A sharper cry.

"Obi-Wan?!"

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Anakin watched a doctor sprint into Kenobi's room. He smiled inside.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Palpatine was thinking.

Still sitting long after Skywalker had departed, he was lost in contemplation.

The seeds had been planted. Now Jinn, that despicable simpleton, could offer peals of rain needed for growth. The boy was already certain he was the gold among dented tin in the Order. Arrogant…and resentful. What a lovely combination. 

The elderly man chuckled, a sour sound. _Fool._ Prodigy that he was, Anakin Skywalker could not compete with the potential swelled in one Knight.

A short beep disrupted him.

With a flick of his hand, the new message played.

The familiar, feminine voice of Padme Amidala resounded from the machine. "Chancellor Palpatine…"

He could not help but laugh again. _Yes, he will be mine._

And if that big-headed slave kid was the so-called 'instrument of the Force', then Palpatine was the conductor.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Two: Discord's Winter

Autumn's shriveling has met its end

Dried leaves and bare trees

The sky darkens and snow descends

Smothering frost all one sees

The chill freezes a dormant heart

Troubled soul, seek out the warming cinder

To wait out this suffering, what has been endured from the bitter start

Fix your hopes upon the horizon, and survive discord's winter.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan rubbed his fingertips over the raised letters of the cold, otherwise slick nameplate. His memory was remarkably vivid, but most trivial things were smudged with age. He could picture the square shape…shapes were simpler, because those were able to be felt. Colors were difficult. He recalled the nameplates were all gold. But what was that? Sometimes Bant used to refer to his hair as a 'ginger' shade-was that the same?

A trembling hand went to his forehead. _Stop it. It doesn't matter anymore. What difference does color make? _He managed to key the entry code, then waited for the gush of air to alert him the door was open.

He stepped through into his apartment. Immediately, his focus was secured to his mental layout of the rooms. Twelve steps from the door to the couch. Three from there to the armchair. And the bedroom? _Let's stick to the basics for awhile. Pace yourself, Obi-Wan._ It was a bit strange. He always referred to himself inwardly that way. His words were too instructional for private dialogue. They almost sounded like---_never mind._

The knight returned to his task, beginning the short, carefully planned trek. One…two…three… He kept an arm raised, in case, for some reason, he was off.

He sensed his destination and, with a measure of caution, lowered himself to the soft cushion. Obi-Wan sighed, relaxing against the back.

His wounded shoulder ached dully. He massaged the damaged area. But the pain didn't recede. He probably should still be in the healing ward.

This was a natural part of recovery, though, and what purpose did staying in that place serve? Bant needed to tend to her other patients. His situation didn't really warrant around the clock care now. Rest was just as easily attained at home.

His muscles were sore and his limbs were heavy. The weariness was collecting in his head. 

Obi-Wan stretched out on the overstuffed piece of furniture. He was in the process of finding a comfortable position when his arm collided with a hard object. The Jedi frowned. He pulled it from beneath him.

At once he recognized the smoothed wooden cane. _Does she ever know when to let up? _In her quiet, nondescript, _sneaky_ way, Bant had slipped that cursed thing in his personal space! _Sometimes I wish she was brash and loud and try to force the cane into my hands. _Then_ I could yell at her and not feel terrible afterward! _But, how could one ever be remorseless after treating Bant harshly? Honestly, you couldn't.

However, her darling personality didn't make him want to use that walking stick anymore than before. He dropped it to the floor and fully reclined.

He heard the air conditioning, pleased by the gentle stirring of a breeze in his hair. A sleepy smile stretched his lips loosely.

Obi-Wan lay for a few moments, sliding from his languid state to the numbing caress of unconsciousness.

Then, a horrible specter rushed to the front of his mind. A red and black mess. The demon blade's deadly sparks. The smell of charred flesh.

He sat up, propping himself on his elbows, breathing heavily. 

Blood and darkness. Red and black.

The only shades he could distinguish.

At that moment, he missed the company of others. The support only those closest to him could provide.

He would not accept whatever was offered. He shied from the warm arms that sought to envelope him.

And grew colder.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin strode into his shared quarters with Qui-Gon. His talk earlier had greatly buoyed his esteem. It was good to know someone else understood his situation. Palpatine appreciated his talents. Maybe his master would too, if they were magnified for him a little.

On the way back from the Chancellor's office, the apprentice had run through his inventory of exceptional abilities, many Jinn was not even aware of. Anakin decided a high-level kata would be best. He had perfected an advanced saber technique, with some twists of his own design, and was sure the elder Jedi would be impressed.

Besides, _Obi-Wan _was most likely released from the healers by now. Which meant Qui-Gon was back to keeping full distance from the other man.

Which was exactly how it should be.

Anakin stopped when he saw Qui-Gon at the kitchen table.

Face buried in two large arms.

Snoring softly.

Skywalker snorted, with the palest tinge of contempt, walking past the oblivious master to the fridge unit. He stretched his arm far into its depths, and pulled out a green glass bottle. He swished its dwindling contents. From the look of things, Qui-Gon had indulged himself plenty tonight.

Maybe not , considering this liquor was top when it came to potency and fast effects.

Anakin had occasionally taken a drink of it. Never enough for his mentor to notice. Though he wasn't sure if the seasoned Jedi was observant enough to become wise to it the first place.

Sometimes Anakin forgot the rest of the universe wasn't as skilled as himself.

He sipped the drink, studying the man at the table. He was not the same strong, formidable warrior who had rescued him from the scathing tortures of Tatooine. This person, passed out drunk, smelling faintly of the alcohol coursing through his body, was old. His prime was enjoyed prior to Anakin's birth. He was slowing down. The boy saw it in his movements and longer mediations. The fine lines streaking from the corners of midnight blue eyes. Gray highlights dimmed the shine in otherwise brown hair.

He would be out until morning.

So would Anakin. He smirked, a spring to his step as he grabbed his cloak and headed for his favorite club.

Like all the questionable deeds his padawan committed, Qui-Gon wouldn't know.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme wheeled around when her old-world door was shoved open manually. Ileana, dressed in a crinkled, sea green dress, with her swept back into a bun, came rushing toward the surprised senator. Tears stood in emerald eyes. "Oh, Senator Amidala…"

The younger woman grasped the other's forearm. "Ileana, what happened?" Concern tightened her voice. "Did he injure you?"

Ileana shook her head while feverishly wiping the moisture from her gracefully aging face. "No. But, I saw his latest victim…By the god's mercy, it was awful."

"What? What did you see?"

She swallowed, a hand displaying the slightest of wrinkles going to her neck. Once composure was gained, Ileana forced herself to elaborate. "H-He told me that his latest client would spare no credits. The client wanted at least three. Fully-trained in combat." Her head bowed. "And minds wiped."

Padme's eyes narrowed in sharp interest. "Were there any names mentioned?"

"No." Ileana rasped. "But I did see a man. He had endured the memory removal. His skin was pale and he shook as though he were cased in ice. Berrel told me prices were increasing---that soon he would be rich enough to buy me a mansion on some sun-kissed beach."

The politician looked away while digesting the information.

"And---there is something else, Senator."

Padme turned her head back. 

"Berrel knows that I am assisting you. I convinced him that I am only throwing you off track in the investigation. He believes I still love him."

"Does this affect you, Ileana?"

Ileana smiled, but melancholy shadowed her expression. "I did love him once, Senator. It is very hard to turn your back on old affections."

__

Yes, it is. "I understand completely."

The woman nodded. More tears washed her eyes. Her lips surrendered to an emotional quivering. "But there is a limit to love. I reached that threshold when I saw that man suffering. Suffering for the selfish reasons of Berrel. Love may be everlasting, but it cannot blind you to the evils those you love can do."

Padme shivered.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon bent forward, stretching out his hand to caress Obi-Wan's cheek. A weak beam of light was cast upon the youthful face by a nearby lamp. The severely damaged skin around his eyes was healing well, and a new , pink layer was forming. Soon, there would be no visible sign of the horrible attack on the apprentice.

The soft spikes of hair were wilted and shaded his forehead. His eyes were closed, the bandages removed nearly three days before. When Obi-Wan had begun to show distress that evening, Qui-Gon was sure he would have awakened. He applied a small wave of Force soothing, and moments later the patient was peacefully sleeping once more. It had not been the master's intention to sedate him, but he couldn't stand to see his precious friend in pain. The physician informed Jinn that Kenobi could not be transported to Coruscant until he had been conscious long enough to access his overall condition. 

Now Qui-Gon was so anxious to return Obi-Wan to the comfortable surroundings of the Temple he was on the brink of shaking the unresponsive form.

"Master Qui-Gon…sir?"

Qui-Gon stood and walked over to Anakin. "What is it?" His voice was quiet and gentle.

The boy smiled. He liked the way the older Jedi treated him, and couldn't wait to start his training at the big city-planet they had visited before. Now, if only they could leave this dreary, featureless place! "When are we going to your home again?"

The tall man patted his shoulder. "As soon as Obi-Wan is awake for awhile."

Anakin tried to bite down on his lip to keep from frowning, but the master caught the expression anyway.

"The first rule of the Jedi is patience, young one." He admonished kindly.

He twisted his leg, watching his foot make streaks on the clean tile flooring. "Couldn't you just—make him wake up? You know, with your mind powers?"

Qui-Gon laughed for a moment. "Anakin, if he is still resting, it means his body is not rejuvenated."  


The tiny nose crinkled.

"Rejuvenated means getting your strength back. He needs to sleep as long as he is still weak."

Anakin sighed. "Okay. Well, could you show me some tricks with your lightsaber?" 

"Not in a hospital, I'm afraid."

Skywalker nodded, his eyes downcast. "What should I do, then?"

Qui-Gon was about to reply when he heard the crisp sound of sheets shifting. He looked back. 

Obi-Wan's eyelids were slowly opening.

He trotted to his bedside, and drew in close. "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, it's me."

The apprentice took a breath. "M-Master?"

"Yes." He murmured, stroking the dirty hair back. 

Obi-Wan smiled at the tender touch, and his eyes closed. "I was afraid. I-I didn't know what happened to you." His voice was an unsteady whisper. "I thought---"

A finger touched his lips. "Shhh. It's alright. I'm fine. I wasn't hurt." Qui-Gon kissed his forehead. 

"Hmmm….Good. I was…so scared…"

He opened his eyes fully then.

Qui-Gon had anticipated the reaction, but could not believe how deeply the grim surprise lanced through the master's heart. "Obi-Wan---"

Obi-Wan lifted a shaking hand to his face. "Master---Why can't I see you?"

"Obi-Wan…" He sat beside the upset man and grasped his free hand. "The burns were too severe. The doctors did their best, but-"

His mouth trembled. "Master, am I—blind?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Obi-Wan said quietly. A single drop of moisture glimmered in unfocused eyes.

Qui-Gon was silent, watching and waiting.

Anakin stood near the door. He felt sort of sorry for Kenobi. He started to edge out of the room.

Suddenly, a great sob ripped from Obi-Wan's throat, and he reached out wildly for Qui-Gon. 

The man gathered the other in his arms. The youth buried his head in a broad shoulder. 

"Master!" He clung to the man, gripping his back and dissolving into tears.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

An hour passed. Obi-Wan's cries were reduced to little ragged gasps. 

Some time during the outpouring, Qui-Gon had repositioned them on the bed so the suffering apprentice could lay against him, his head cushioned by his mentor's chest.

The wetness had dried on his cheeks. His dead stare was heavy-lidded. 

Qui-Gon thought he had never seen someone look so darkly beautiful when confronted with such utter tragedy. _There seemed to be no anger radiating from the still features, as he had expected. Only sad registration of his life's path twisted. It was his Obi-Wan before him, the self-same person who had illuminated his life with radiance, and taught him to be a father. _

Obi-Wan swallowed, his hand resting on the master's forearm. The healer had already came, made aware by a very excited Anakin Skywalker of the wakening. The patient was declared fit to be released to the Temple's hospital care.

He smiled when Qui-Gon tightened his embrace, but soon his brave front collapsed again. 

The night was long and restless.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~  


The morning sun peeked through the thin white drapes. Obi-Wan felt the warmth on his face and neck.

Qui-Gon brushed a stray strand of ginger away. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Obi-Wan fought the lamenting wails rising in his chest. His voice was soft and desolate. "I want to go home."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mejant Brei knocked at the steel, reflective door. Her long hair brushed against her slightly thick waist. Obsidion locks fell in her shining black eyes. Her latest mission had taken her far into the universe, away from her love.

The knight had known him since they were a mere fifteen years old. Their romance was begun not long after. Assignments often separated them, but neither had strayed.

She smiled when the door slid open. Obi-Wan stood before her.

Her happy expression faded. She stroked his face with a delicate hand. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head with a forced grin. "No hello?"

Mejant chuckled, but she sensed the sorrow buried in his Force presence. "Sorry. How about this?" She stood on her tip toes, and pressed full lips to his cheek. 

He kissed her back, though never touching her mouth. "I missed you." 

She linked her arm with his, leading him inside. They sat on the couch.

"What have you been doing?"

He turned his head in the direction of her voice. "Just…nothing."

Mejant took his hand. "Nothing? I talked to Bant."

Obi-Wan feigned a growl.

"Oh, stop it. You knew I'd find out." The humor fled her. "What happened?"

He pulled from her touch. "I was shot. And it made me sick for awhile. It's happened before."

She shook her head. "And it will happen again. I worry about you so much."

"Why?"

"Why?!" Mejant balked incredulously. Her shyness momentarily forgotten, she poured out her pent-up feelings. "Because you're different, Obi-Wan. Despite what you try to prove, you will still be different.

"You cannot face the same dangers other Jedi can. You are still completely valuable to the Order, but you shouldn't threaten that by going on unsuitable missions. What if---" She slapped a hand over her mouth. Tears slid from her widened eyes. She breathed heavily.

"Don't." He rasped, and walked away, closing himself into his bedroom.

Mejant's head fell to her hands. How did they come to this?

Initially after his blinding, he was quietly strong. He still showed his affection openly. But little by little, he changed. More days passed before he would contact her. Their time together was tense. He would only give passionless kisses and absent touches. 

She had believed it to be her fault. Now, after hearing Bant and many others, she knew better.

He was drifting from everyone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

A thunderbolt clapped, and Palpatine glanced up to watch rain beat down upon the Coruscant streets. It was an extreme rarity that the bustling, mostly artificial world received such a natural gift. The Chancellor had observed that whenever it did occur, it brought with it the chilly winds of change as it soaked the streets.

He remembered, while departing from a nauseating visit from the Jedi Temple, seeing a small child with a smudged face , wearing earth-toned clothes standing in the midst of a fierce storm with his mouth wide open, collecting the water in gulps.

He had not even been a Senator then, though still relatively high in government status. Well respected, at least. He curiously strolled up to the boy, and asked why he drank.

The child had blinked, staring up in bewilderment, the streams of moisture running down his face. His eyes were an unbelievably striking blue. "It's pure, sir. Like from heaven."

Palpatine had snorted then. "What do you know of heaven?"

The tike had shrugged tiny shoulders and taken another swallow. 

The man's interest had not faltered. The presence of this lad in the Force was nothing short of remarkable. A burning luminance in the Sith's black psyche. It disturbed him. "What are you doing out here alone? Didn't anyone ever tell you Coruscant is no place for children to wander after nightfall?"

A high-pitched laugh. "That's okay. I'll be fine."

Palpatine was amused at the youthful bluntness and optimism. "What makes you think that?"

Hair both light and dark plastered to the forehead, gleaming in the moon's glow, and the electric, blinking lights of surrounding businesses. "I'm a Jedi."

"Oh." _So I had assumed._ "Why aren't you inside?"

A smile of such tender innocence was displayed that Palpatine was very nearly entranced. "'Cuz it's too hard to feel the rain from there. Too many ceilings." He grumbled.

"Hm. How did you get out of there? I would think you would have others watching over you."

A mischievous look crossed over the elfin face before returning to its normal guilelessness. "It was really easy. I just---"

"Obi-Wan!" A young woman in similar Jedi garb dashed up to the peculiar pair. Her eyes were huge and full of unmasked worry. She glanced at Palpatine before focusing squarely on her little runaway. "What do you think you were doing?"

Obi-Wan gazed directly at her, then stuck a thumb in his mouth.

The Creche' master huffed and looked at the man. "Mr. Palpatine, thank you for catching him. I turned my attention for just a moment---"

He held up a hand, smiling that fake smile he reserved for those he despised, but must be civil towards. "No need for explanations, miss. I happened to stumble upon him."

Obi-Wan moved closer to the woman, and wrapped a short arm around her leg. There was an air of caution to him now.

Palpatine was impressed. Most children his age would still be all grins and giggles around everyone. 

Not this child.

He had bowed to the two Jedi and continued on his way.

On some level, he had been aware ever since that short meeting that their destinies were meant to collide.

The Chancellor reclined in his chair, stroking his chin absently. There was something unique in that youthful visage, that he had not glimpsed in person since their brief encounter at the landing pad. 

These days the Force, in the midnight tones it could form, spoke to him of changes.

He smirked, pressing the intercom. "Contact the Jedi Temple. Immediately."

A bluish, holographic form stood in miniature size. "Yes, sir."

The form vanished. Palpatine swiveled in his chair, studying the sheets of rain that blurred the cityscape. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"I'll take a Rousmeltia on the rocks."

The burly man cocked a furry, thick eyebrow. "You sure you old enough?"

Anakin smiled, dark twinkling in his eyes. He waved a hand nonchalantly. "I'm old enough. In fact, I shouldn't even have to pay."

Confusion misted the barkeep's face. "You're old enough. In fact, you shouldn't even have to pay."

A glass of iced orange liquor was slid his way. The Jedi apprentice downed it in a heartbeat. 

The man looked at him then, frowning. After brief hesitation, he moved down to serve another customer.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon moaned, the dull throb in his head pulling him rudely to consciousness. He lifted his head with deliberate slowness. His gray-streaked hair was mussed, and red veined his eyes.

He became aware he was at the kitchen table. The entire apartment was pitch black. 

__

Oh Force. Anakin. The master stood, leaning on the chair a moment while he gained balance. He couldn't detect the Padawan's presence, but his current state may have been the cause for that.

He stretched, earning a relieving pop of his back, and started down the hall. 

Hours had passed, as he could gauge from the stilled atmosphere. Qui-Gon rubbed his stomach when it gurgled. The drink always had repugnant effects on him. He didn't know quite why he enjoyed that sour taste, that warm flavor sliding down his throat and loosening his senses. _I should have meditated._

He stood at Anakin's door, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping.

He flattened a palm to the surface.

No need for quiet. The boy wasn't there.

Qui-Gon instinctively unhooked his commlink. He held it an inch from his mouth. "Anakin , where are you?"

The reply was instantaneous. "Master?"

"What are you doing out so late?" 

Anakin groaned inwardly . He already sounded on the verge of a reprimand. "I just thought you would like some peace and quiet, Master. I'm having tea at a café."

Jinn listened to the din reverberating from the communicator. What sort of café was the apprentice occupying? "Don't be long. Good-bye, Anakin."

"See you soon, master."

The man walked a step further. He cursed beneath his breath and activated the homing option.

In a flash, a short message had appeared on the screen: ZINDO'S PUB.

Qui-Gon fought the rage and irritation seething inside. He rushed to the door, grabbing his cloak, and went off after his wayward protégé.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped under the hot spray of the shower, letting the constant beat massage his tight muscles. The water coursed down his bare body. Suds cleansed impossibly clammy skin.

He had not meant to hurt Mejant. Her words were difficult to absorb without anger. 

Anger.

__

What leads to anger?

"Fear." He whispered aloud. The knight supposed that was accurate. Every moment, whether conscious of it or not, he was afraid. 

The pity that others deemed it necessary to broadcast was like a crudely fashioned dagger, jagged and effective, thrust into him. Over and over.

Then he bled. Agony burned in the crevices of his shielding. He could feel it. Despite his feverish, endless attempts to banish emotion to that place beyond his mental reaches, Obi-Wan could feel it.

Of course, there was no way of seeing the sad compassion etched in their faces. He didn't want to. Sometimes, as odd and twisted as it sounded, Obi-Wan was glad for the thick blackness securely mounted over his eyes. It prevented him from the full knowledge of how far his reputation had slipped. Masters, Knights even down to younglings eagerly asked if he needed aid. 

__

"Would you like me to help you to the lift?"

"I'll carry that for you, Knight Kenobi."

Obi-Wan began to carefully shave the thin stubble from his cheek.

A voice from long ago, deep and rumbling and too reminiscent of old pain. _"Is there anything I can get you?"_

He fumbled then, the razor's edge sinking into his flesh.

Tears mingled with fresh, hot liquid maroon.

What room did the Jedi Temple, teeming with the most talented and bright beings, the elite, have for an invalid?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mace Windu shook his head again. His fervent, brown gaze remained steadfastly on the other Council member. "No. This is ridiculous."

Eyes the hue of crisp lime closed. "Look into the future, you do not. There, the answers are."

The entire Order regarded Master Yoda as the epitome of Jedi wisdom and skill, including Mace. His prowess with a lightsaber was only surpassed by his keen sense of foresight. But that didn't mean he was almighty. The aged, tiny alien could be wrong. "You're inviting trouble. Worse, you're begging for it."

Yoda laughed softly, his shoulders shaking. "Too concerned, you are, of the now."

__

I could say the same of you regarding the morrows. "But it will not be limited to the present. If Obi-Wan is ordered to accompany Master Jinn and Padawan Skywalker, he will, simply, refuse. You cannot ask him to---"

Droopy ears folded to the sides of his head. "Hmmph. The will of the Force, ask, does it, to be carried out? No. I think not."

"You will force him to endure such a traumatic and unfair assignment? Do you consider the ramifications this will have?" He sighed. "It could destroy him."

"Who?"

Mace's mahogany countenance was dim. "Any of them. All of them. It's impossible to say."

"Look past that, you must. How know you, that this is not a salvation?"

"I saw Qui-Gon after it happened. He was beyond devastation."

Yoda merely smiled.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon stood in the intricate center of the Council Chamber. Thin, black designs circled his form. The lights above, usually a soothing, golden radiance, beat down on him. Heat smoldered behind his ears. A headache flared. At this moment, he wished nothing else but to return to the Healing Ward. Sit at his sorrowful apprentice's side, and spread the balm of his love over the pain. 

But, a tiny, shriveled bit of him, somewhere in a dank, hazy section of his heart, did not want to offer the comfort. He didn't know how he could bare the lifeless stare from eyes once overflowing. 

He didn't know if he could stand here and describe that day.

The grim events proceeding the Sith battle had postponed the official report of the Naboo mission. The master had NOT been looking forward to this meeting.

All twelve members were present today, seated in their round, cushioned steel chairs, pensive faces akin to a harsh, unforgiving jury.

What would his sentence be?

He had not abandoned his padawan. He refused to consider that. The Force had beckoned to him, in that demanding tone, swelling inside him until it was all he could feel…

"Know why your presence is required, do you, Master Jinn?" The gargled voice was not kind. It was as sharp as the wizened one could manage.

"Yes." He replied rather gruffly. "To elaborate on the result of our assignment. Sabe', Queen Amidala's decoy, was able to---"

"No." A wrinkled, three-clawed hand was held up to silence him. "Written report, have we for that. Informed we are not of what caused Padawan Kenobi's…" The little alien actually paused, clearing his throat, light lashes brushing against green skin. The Force stirred in reaction to his sadness. "Blinding."

Qui-Gon looked away, past the attentive group, toward the span of buildings and zooming cloud cars. "He---fell. Several levels down, he told me. His leg was broken a-and he was immobilized. The Sith---" He had to strive very hard not to call the demented, evil creature something less polite, "strode up to him and…slashed his lightsaber across Obi-Wan's eyes."

A tense quiet fell, as the bearded man sensed the new layer of grief lain. Adi Gallia, often reflective and quiet rather than overly opinionated, replied first. "Why were you not there to assist your apprentice?"

The inquiry was neutral enough, yet it was a powerful blow to his shaky defenses. "I---Before the duel had moved to the generator, I was---compelled---by the Force. It spoke to me. It told me to find the Queen. I did as I have always been taught." He did not waver in either tone or gaze. "I obeyed the Force.

"I discovered Queen Amidala injured, as is stated in the report. I saw that she received medical attention, then retrieved Obi-Wan."

The summary sounded cold and rehearsed, not reflecting the horrid reunion with his Padawan. How could he explain the smoking face, the blackening of soft, light skin? They, despite their vast realms of knowledge, could not comprehend. 

Yoda was watching him, cracked lips turned down. Woe hung over him like fog. "Justify your abrupt departure, you believe?"

Qui-Gon approached his response carefully. "I believe Queen Amidala stood little chance of survival without my assistance."

"We cannot argue your own harmony with the Force. If you state this was what occurred, we cannot doubt you. You are a Master of the Jedi arts, and your judgement is trusted."

Jinn turned to Mace Windu. 

"There is nothing we can say to reprimand your actions. Obi-Wan's loss is tremendous, but…" The man's hand went to his forehead. "You believe you had your reasons."

Qui-Gon was silent and motionless. Regret was etched in every being. They WANTED to rightly punish him. The aura of frustration thickened. It was difficult to gather a breath.

Finally, thankfully, Yoda spoke. "Dismissed, you are."

No 'May the Force be with You', not even a feeble farewell.

The tall, muscled master walked from the room.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Obi-Wan rolled from his side to his back, thrashing listlessly. Tears seeped from clenched eyelids.

His breathing intensified until his chest was heaving.

With a throaty cry, he sat up.

And was surrounded by the support of arms. Soft, wrapped around him.

"Obi-Wan. It's okay. I'm right here."

He held onto Mejant, pressing against her, wanting the warmth radiating from that compassionate soul. 

Her hands curled to cup the base of his neck. She shushed him. "You're alright."

Obi-Wan nodded, suddenly embarrassed at the hot moisture dampening her tunic shoulder. He pulled back.

His heart sunk into the rising current of despair. He had been expecting to peer at her face, framed by long, irrepressibly straight, silken black locks. The woman he had cherished and ushered through the deepest corridors of his being. 

He saw nothing but the blank expanse.

Never would he see the rounded nose, , huge brown eyes that when closed displayed the loveliest pair of thick, curling lashes. He had lost the gift of watching her lips quiver, or stretch into a smile.

A great rage swept through him, bending the theories he had developed to shield his tortured mind as if they were willowy reeds. What remained after the onslaught was the bared truth.

No. It was not lost. It was taken. My sight was stolen. 

"Obi-Wan?" Mejant was stroking his cheek. He could easily read the concern in her movements. "What's the matter? Love---"

"I---need to be alone. There is something…I must think over."

"Oh." Her attentive hand fell. He listened as she rose and felt her hair brush against his neck. The agony needled him again. He remembered her hair being so black it almost appeared to glint blue in the light…

"Mejant."

"Yes?" She sounded relieved he was not leaving their conversation this way. 

He nearly smiled. "I love you…so much." 

His mouth was covered by the gentle pressure of a kiss. 

Then she was gone.

Obi-Wan remained sitting. Exhaustion ached inside him. 

He had never been so tired.

The young man craved sleep. His recovering body screamed for it. But Mejant's words haunted him.

"You're alright."

It was the first time he had ever heard a lie pass through her sweet lips.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon walked down the final hallway. His pride was wounded, for the silent accusations had impregnated the air, and lingered in him. A group of beings he had trusted as friends, or at the very least polite acquaintances, were now tolerating_ him with an angry, regretful regard. _

It was hard to endure the hard looks and shaking heads. Could no one understand?

The master stopped at his apprentice's hospital room. Hopefully, Obi-Wan would be discharged soon. He gave a light tap to announce his entry.

"Come in."

Qui-Gon complied, pausing to note the quiet monotone. "Obi-Wan?" He had been prepared to find the younger man asleep. He was currently seated in his bed, back rigid, hands folded in his lap. Shadow ringed his pale, unfocused eyes. 

Concerned, Jinn took quick steps to his protégé's , sinking down beside him. "It's late."

"I know." Obi-Wan murmured. He lifted his head towards where he heard the masculine vocals. His mouth was a straight, still line. 

A rough-hewn hand touched his cheek. Obi-Wan leaned into the palm, then drew back with a shuddering gasp.

"What?"

Kenobi made no move to wipe the light drips of tears. 

Qui-Gon studied their odd sparkle, fear welling in his chest. "Padawan, what is it?"

What happened next was totally unanticipated.

Obi-Wan laughed. A long, sharp, bitter chuckle. "Padawan?" He mocked. "I do not sense your padawan here."

"What are you talking about?" Qui-Gon grasped his arms and shook him gently. "YOU are my padawan, Obi-Wan."

The smile vanished. The tears now slid to trace his jaw line. "Are you ill, Master Jinn? Or simply outrageously forgetful?"

"W-What?" He sputtered.

"How could you not remember? You saw something --quite wonderful, I suppose--in Anakin. And dropped me as if I was a burning Talikis potato." Fingers smoothed his hair, but he batted them away. "In front of the most esteemed Jedi in the Order, you rejected me. Again."

"Obi-Wan…It was necessary. They were going to cast him out---"

"So better to have cast me out instead?" Pain flooded their mental connection. New and aged agony that had been deteriorating his soul, never allowed freedom. TODAY would be liberation. "I have to wonder if you ever truly had a care for me at all."

"Of course I-"

"No." His eyes sealed. "I don't want to hear." He swallowed. "But I would think I deserved something after years of dedication and---love. I have willingly given you everything. All that I am, I surrendered to you. Ironic, isn't it? I have been blind most of my life."

"No---" The man was on the verge of pleading.

"Yes, Master Jinn. And you WILL answer my question.

"What failings have I committed that would make you desert me in battle---without warning? What did I do?" Harsh desperation shook the weary frame.

Qui-Gon gripped the other's hands. "Nothing. You did nothing. The Force called to me." 

"Oh." A ghost of the resentful smile resurfaced. "Broad excuse, don't you think?" He was a statue for a moment, breathless and devoid of emotion.

Then he began to sob.

The master gathered him in unyielding, strong arms. Obi-Wan collapsed against his chest, resting his head on a massive shoulder.

It would be so easy, he mused, to remain in the warm embrace. Let the fury settle until it collected and retreated to his heart, where it would stay. Where it would wear down that fragile place until it was raw and…useless. Qui-Gon began rocking him, whispering endearments…

Obi-Wan would not be lulled. 

He repositioned himself so his cheek was lain against Qui-Gon's, their temples touching. An uneven exhale slipped from his mouth. A horrible, old longing rose in him. But this man would never be the father he had wished for. It was time to stop the pitiful dreams. Maybe he was never meant to have a family.

Perhaps he was destined to wander the universe alone. 

In the dark.

Qui-Gon's tears mingled with his own. He could wait no longer. "I---am dying inside, Master Jinn. I have been ripped from my former existence by the worst enemy of my Order. I can't study Mejant's beauty. I won't have the chance to watch another golden sunrise.

"When Master Yoda shears my braid, I will only imagine the fall of it."

Qui-Gon tried to interrupt, Obi-Wan heard the catch in his throat and shook his head. "He has already agreed to my ascension to knighthood. Without you."

When the hulking man started pulling away, Obi-Wan forced him back. Their cheeks pressed. "It is not what I want. For years, it was my prospect to have you at my side for the ceremony." He rasped vehemently. "But now, I must do justice to myself. I can't ignore what you have done this time. You have taken my life from me." His lips were close to Qui-Gon's ear. The final murmur was laced with misery and resolve.

"And you are dead to me."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stormed down the crowded streets. This was a low level of Coruscant, where bums huddled in groups with musty, stained rags draped over their trembling shoulders. Fights were violent, deadly brawls that erupted rampantly. Even at this sluggish hour, quiet was nonexistent. 

Everything was bathed in neon light buzzing from animated signs. Small, crumbled shops were lined along, leading to a larger club. In the eerie glow of midnight, _Zindo's Pub_ looked like a grim, uninviting dark cave.

He had never been a patron of the place. As a Jedi, he held himself with a clean sort of dignity.

__

So when YOU want to drink yourself into oblivion, you just stay at the Temple.

The master stopped. His hand went to his forehead. The words had sprang from his own mind, but sounded like, _felt_ like, foreign thought.

A huge, bulky creature bumped into him, and Qui-Gon was startled back to the present.

Drowsy-lidded orange eyes, watery and lazy from enormous liquor consumption bore into him. "Hey! You wanna watch where ya' goin…?" The towering, scaled alien slurred.

Qui-Gon wasn't intimidated. From the pungent stench the stranger reeked of, the Jedi would be impressed if he didn't fall flat on his face in five minutes. "I'm very sorry."

A loud and stale burp. "Happens e-gain, I'll tear yourrr head off."

Qui-Gon smiled, concealing a grimace, and continued on his search. 

As he walked, several women with fake, glittering lashes and dangerously short skirts brushed past him. A few offered him a lusty sigh.

He was disgusted, though he could understand. Their poverty left little option that was not sinless and sparsely paying. Morals had a weak following in the slums.

Which begged the question:

Why was Anakin here?

There was a burst of cackles and whoops , and a sickly, cold certainty rushed down his spine. Qui-Gon approached in gradual steps. The crowd was tight, but he was able to wiggle his way through to the core of the noisy circle.

A small, balding man was leaning on the bar, sloppily gulping a ruby red beverage. His wrinkled button-up top did little to conceal a swelled, hairy belly. From the hardness of it, Qui-Gon guessed he was a veteran lush.

Standing beside him was a much taller man, slim and broad-shouldered in a deep brown cloak. His head of sandy hair was thrown back. The same colored substance slid from the glass to his throat smoothly . When he slapped the empty container down, cheers erupted. Several scantily clad girls stroked his arm or kissed his cheek in congratulations.

Anakin had obviously won the contest.

A grin split the youthful face.

The defeated man snorted, booze running from his stubble-covered mouth and slithering along several chins. He wiped half-heartedly at them. "You cleaned out m'pockets, kid. I don't think I'll be getting' that damn medicine m'old woman keeps telllin' me to get." He belched. "S'okay. What do doctors know anyway?" He gave Anakin a friendly punch. "That was credits well spent! Nobody ever challenged me to no drinking contest in…days!" Hoarse chortles followed.

Qui-Gon caught his apprentice sneer disdainfully at the man. He stuffed the money in a tunic fold and started walking away. A woman with big, shining eyes and a glitzy mini-dress took his hand.

Anakin ripped himself from her loose hold. "What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?!"

She took a little leap back. "I just thought---"

He laughed, the sound biting and arrogant. "You thought? Do you know what I am? WHO I am?"

She shook her head, painted lips captured between crooked teeth. "No---"

"Of course you don't. I'm a Jedi. The best of them all. So why would you _ever_ even entertain the notion I would be interested in ghetto garbage like you?"

"That's enough." Qui-Gon barked, emerging from the mass of creatures and clutched Anakin's arm. 

Artificial red light spilled from a fixture above, onto the flushed face of Skywalker. "What---"

Qui-Gon turned to gently address the girl. "Please excuse us, miss."

She nodded, and was off, scampering toward the exit.

The sight of tears shimmering on her lashes stayed with the master. He looked at his protégé, who was glaring openly at him.

He had to nearly shout to be heard over the din of upbeat music. The words were, unmistakably, a growl. "We'll discuss this at home."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stood on his apartment balcony.

Rain poured, glistening in his hair and leaving a sheen over his face. He loved to be among the rushing waters. The cool moisture pooling in every surface of Coruscant. He could hear it. Smell it. Feel it. Taste it.

He opened his mouth and dipped his head back. 

But the rain was not sweet as it had been on those long-ago nights, when the storms would seem so cleansing. Clear droplets that fell from heaven. Now the taste was bland and…

Obi-Wan walked forth, his movements not as measured as usual. He knew this place well. Better than his quarters. His hands wrapped around the cold, wet railing, and he leaned forward, the gush of wind ruffling his hair and tickling his neck.

His breath was stolen away by the strong surges of air. His thin sleep clothes were drenched.

The days, the weary, grim days, pressed in on him. Thoughts assaulted him: of stupid fights and lost time. Feeling useless. An oppressive force, standing in the way of others' happiness. Pinning them down with pity.

Saffron and blood eyes narrowed. A soft, wicked chuckle. Unimaginable pain.

Turning his back on what he loved most.

__

And for what?!

In a ragged slip of self-awareness, he screamed.

For as long as his throat would hold out, he yelled his frustrations incoherently.

Draining only his strength. He knew his spirit was already spent.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Berrel's thin lip curled, revealing a single golden tooth among the two white rows. His metal hand propped his unshaven chin. "Jedi, huh?"

Ileana nodded.

He was silent for a moment, then laughed lightly, reaching out to stroke her red hair behind her ear. "That Senator broad is serious about ruining me." Humor flashed brilliant in his eyes. "I guess she underestimates my secret weapon." He kissed Ileana, smiling.

She blushed. "I was surprised she decided to contact the Jedi Temple." Her gaze fell.

The man frowned. The glowing, artificial fingers touched her wrist. "You sound unsure. You---think I should be taking more precautions?"

She shrugged. "I've never dealt with Jedi before. The only instances I've heard of them were in tales during my childhood. But they are the supposed protectors of the galaxy."

"Yeah." He grunted. "And they seem like a dying breed. Maybe I won't even have to worry about them. The last idiot Jedi who came here died. Remember the huge funeral?"

Ileana nodded again.

"Hey, if worse comes to worse, there can be a few more of those. What business is it of theirs? They're meddlers, Leana, pure and simple. Should I shake in my boots at the thought of them? All they do is intimidate others. I am _never_ intimidated."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant stared down at the holopad. It had arrived at the Healing Ward late, which was an oddity in itself. She had curiously read through it.

And she did not like what it said.

"_The Jedi Council requests you to evaluate Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi's health condition. It must be ascertained if he is capable of participating in an official mission---"_

As a head Healer of the Order, she had memorized the form letter, and usually it was just asking for her to carry out the procedure of medical clearance speedily. 

It was different now. Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, _Obi_, was different. He was sufficiently recovered from his illness and injury, but his eyes would always be afflicted. The Council was hesitant about allowing him to participate in assignments, which was why he was subjected to those which were more suiting older padawans. Bant had to admit, it had to be pretty embarrassing. Obi-Wan was a fully grown, extremely talented Knight. Everyone continued to shelter him as if he were a fragile, trembling thing, on the brink of breaking. He was definitely 'capable' of most any mission.

That, however, did not mean she was willing to give him her professional permission. Bant was not certain she wanted his safety on her conscience.

She remembered the bright confidence always shining in her lifelong friend, his grace and unequaled stamina. 

Such a depressing contrast to the present. Obi-Wan was a pale shadow of the man he had been.

What was unrelentingly heartbreaking was he knew it. He carried that tragic understanding.

He did not need to be insulted with her refusals. Bant quickly signed the document.

Rain hammered the windows.

She could not hear the release of her blinded companion's screams, wails like a wounded wolf would emit…

Or a forgotten ghost.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Their footsteps thudded on the sidewalk. The cold air flushed their cheeks, already fiery from the brief confrontation. 

Anakin took a deep breath, and wasn't bothered when it was exhaled as a sharp hiss. The anger was boiling dangerously near his surface. He didn't care if his master was irked by lack of control.

After all, Anakin had some measure of control.

Or Qui-Gon Jinn would have been nursing an ugly bruised eye by now.

He couldn't believe the audacity of that stubborn man! Yanking him, an adult, out of that club like he was a badly behaving toddler! 

__

Hypocrite. A small, gravelly voice whispered, far inside the murkiest chamber of his mind.

__

Yes. Anakin agreed, glancing at the moon , hindered by black clouds. _Stupid hypocrite._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The tense walk finally ended as the pair entered the silent, shadowy apartment.

The younger man moved to switch on the lights while the other settled gratefully in the closest chair.

Anakin was walking towards the corridor when Qui-Gon cleared his throat.

The tall apprentice stopped, the slightest murmured curse falling from his mouth. He turned to look at his mentor.

Qui-Gon's sage, blue gaze studied him. After a deliberating moment, he spoke. "You saw me."

The statement was bland and strangely emotionless. 

Anakin sat across from the elder. It occurred to him that they were returned to the base of the evening's troubles. He ran his finger along the kitchen table, eyes carefully lowered. "Yes."

Qui-Gon nodded, still without animation. "And you left for that pub."

"Uh-huh."

"I see."

It was akin to being interviewed for a census. Anakin almost wished he would go into a feverish, enraged rant. The blank expression before him was unnerving. It reminded him of a faulty circuit that slows before exploding in a shower of sizzling sparks.

Qui-Gon's head rested in his large, rough palms. Then, he rose smoothly to his feet, took a step, and pulled Anakin up. He gripped the Padawan's shoulders.

Anakin saw the time wearing down the proud leonine features. More than ever, his master wore the weary marks of age. A hand started to rise toward his face…

__

Please. Don't let him slap me. I'll lose it. Who does he think he is? He can't do that to me…He'll be sprawled on the floor when I'm done with him.

But then the hard visage melted. Tender care glimmered in moist orbs.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers across Anakin's cheek, and embraced him.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

He ran. In a daze, the incredible hurt creeping up, he burst out the Healing Ward and flew up the flights of stairs, the idea of taking the time-effective lift never crossing into consideration.

Qui-Gon stopped at his apartment, where the Jinn/Kenobi nameplate continued gleaming obliviously. He sealed his eyes, tears slipping from the corners, and fumbled to key the entry code.

He walked inside with a relieved gasp.

And saw Anakin Skywalker curled up on the sofa. His little head popped up at the arrival. Youthfully innocent eyes sparkled amidst long, straight, straw-colored hair. "Qui-Gon!" He exclaimed, and was a blur until he reached the Jedi master's side.

Qui-Gon felt the small arms wrap around his waist. He knew he had been shamefully neglectful to the child these weeks. He had been so busied…elsewhere.

He shuddered. The pain clawed at him again. Images of Obi-Wan, broken to pitiful, unrecognizable bits, rose in his awareness.

Broken, yet stronger, more resolved, than ever before.

Obi-Wan had taken those shards of himself, those beyond any repair, and sank them into his master's heart.

"… you are dead to me."

His eyes, rebellious to his desperate orders to compose, watered. A weak sob grew in his chest.

Anakin frowned, tugging at a billowing, cream sleeve. "Master Qui-Gon? What's wrong?"

The concerned tone of the still-sweet voice nearly caused him to smile. He bent his head down to see a tear land on the boy's cheek. It caught the lights of the room and became a tiny diamond upon smooth skin. 

Qui-Gon dropped to Anakin's level, he suspected because his knees would no longer support his devastated frame. He glimpsed a staggeringly magnificent, important_ future in the simple face. The trail this very boy could blaze…would lead the universe, the Force, to balance. And wasn't that the master's purpose?_

It is now.

__

"Are you okay?"

Qui-Gon drew a shallow breath in. His heart was sorely bruised, but perhaps there was a balm for such things. A genuine smile crossed his mouth. "I will be."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The sun conquered the moon, and took reign over the sky once more, shedding the darkness for a golden light that cascaded down upon Coruscant.

Evidence of the night's storm dried on the sidewalks and wiped from the windshields of cloud cars.

The newly born day spread warmth across Obi-Wan's cheek. He frowned, twisting onto his side and curling into a shivering ball. How was it that heat radiated from the window, as always, but he was freezing cold?

He coughed into his fist, and heard the rattling of congestion in his lungs. His skin was chilly and damp.

Obi-Wan began to lift his head when ache blossomed in it. His sightless, useless eyes were itchy.

Another hacking wracked his body, and he placed his hand to his chest.

His light sleep clothes were dripping wet and clung to his body. He reached for his thick blanket, which was usually kicked to the bottom of his bed sometime during the course of slumber.

His fingers raked against the soft, worn sofa material.

"Damn!" The expletive was hoarsely sounded, his throat suffering with every syllable. 

He had stumbled in from the balcony, drenched and depressed. Exhaustion must have led him no farther than the living room. And left him with a rather nasty cold.

He heard mechanical beeps near the door. The groggy knight eased himself up and relied on calculations to bring him to the comm unit safely. _Seventeen steps…_

Sure enough, his hand touched on the steel communicator. He searched for the raised lettering that represented the 'new messages' button. He pressed it.

"The Jedi Council officially requests your presence in the main chamber at noon. A mission will be presented to you," Here the automated words were exchanged for a Padawan's voice: "Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan promptly erased it, grumbling as he headed to his bedroom, hoping the stuffiness in his head would dissipate.

There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his mental tone. _What exciting endeavor will it be this time? _

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin stood in the lavatory, body straight and hands on his hips, staring into the mirror. His dark layers of tunics were perfectly aligned, and accented his muscular chest. His Padawan braid was neatly plaited, hanging just below his shoulder. He frowned looking at the blonde, entwined strands. No matter where he went, everyone knew he was a mere student.

Most apprentices treasured their braids as symbols of learning and companionship. Anakin wasn't so easily fooled. It was a reminder of their lower status among the Jedi ranks.

And he couldn't wait to be rid of it.

He cared for Qui-Gon, of course. The man had strove to bring him his true destiny when others would have swept him aside. Qui-Gon _believed _in Anakin. Above everyone else.

Even _him._ In the end, even _him._

He smiled smugly, glancing at his reflection with satisfaction before opening the left drawer. 

There was Padme Amidala, gazing up at him, with her beautiful brown eyes, deep like a mysterious chasm, but always inviting. The holo had been featured in a magazine he caught sight of during a trip to the market. Master Jinn would naturally have disapproved his keeping of it. A Jedi was devoted to justice and the supreme will of the Force.

But there were other things. 

Besides, this wasn't a silly infatuation. _Love_ was the needle that had sewn his heart, prevented him from so much as glancing at another. Padme was the exquisite, glittering thread. Without her presence, at least in his memories, Anakin fell apart.

He _would_ know her again. 

"Anakin, its time to go."

Qui-Gon's voice broke through his musings.

Anakin studied the mirror's display. A feeling stirred inside him. Was it premonition? He wasn't sure. All he was certain of was that it made him grin. Widely. "Yes, Master."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped through the opening door, into the hallway, and heard a startled gasp.

Mejant put a hand to her chest. "Obi, you scared the Force out of me! I couldn't sense you!"

He turned in the direction of her lilting voice. "Sorry."

She captured his forearm between her fingers and pulled him gently closer. "What are you apologizing for? I'm the one who was sneaking around. I should have contacted you before I dropped by." The knight watched her intimate companion attempt to smile. The expression seemed to hurt him.

"It's okay. You don't need to do that." He murmured.

Mejant leaned forward and pecked his check. "I was still rude…Where are you off to?"

Striking cerulean orbs looked past her. "I've been summoned by the Council to receive a new mission."

The happiness that resulted in her face from his presence lessened. Her mouth sank to a line. "Already?"

"You don't think I'm ready?" He retorted defensively.

"Obi-Wan---"

"Not that much preparation goes into carrying some official document from point a to point b, Mejant. Anyone, Jedi or not, could do it with their eyes closed."

The irony smarted. She grimaced, and was thoroughly glad he wasn't aware. "You know that is not the caliber of assignments you have been given."

He laughed, a short, acerbic sound, very unlike him. "How would _you_ describe them?"

Mejant hesitated. It was partly accurate, she guessed. "Your missions are, well, I don't know how to…"

"They're better suited for a teenage courier."

She sighed. "The Council does not mean to make you feel slighted."

He reached out, and took a tendril of thick hair in his hand, letting it fall from his grasp, the silky strands brushing against his skin. "Well, they do. I feel like a pile of dust swept under the rug. As if I'm not…"

A hard, unexpected sob broke free.

Mejant instinctively gathered him to her, ignoring the warm moisture starting in her own eyes. "As if you're not what?"

Obi-Wan rested his cheek against her head and breathed in her scent. Clean and sweetly fresh. He wanted to collapse, sink down into this comfort, and just _forget_. "As if I'm not real." His accent thickened with emotion.

Mejant began to cry with earnest sorrow. "Obi-Wan---"

But he abruptly ended the tender embrace. He started to head toward the lift.

"You can't keep walking away!" She called after him.

"It's worked so far."

Mejant stood dumbstruck where she was, mouth covered. Tears ran heedlessly down. Every conversation ended with angry or unexplained departures. No additional territory was ever gained. They were forever still in this horrible spot.

Maybe Obi-Wan was right. The thought was imbedded in her mind faster than she could react. _He doesn't feel real…not even to me._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

The stirring of air created by Qui-Gon's exit chilled him. 

He sat, his hands twisted in the blankets, deathly motionless. 

The magnitude of his actions were just beginning to absorb into his psyche.

But instead of immense sadness, or anger, he was confronted by a well-preserved stash of yesterdays.

He remembered leaping freely into a lake, mere inches from his master. Looking at that leonine, dignified face…water dripping from his beard and grayish brown hair hanging in his eyes. Erupting in laughter when a counter splash was silently issued, spraying droplets onto his cheeks.

The sun beat down on their bare shoulders and lent a brown cast to ivory. Orange glints were captured in their joyous gazes. 

Qui-Gon turned around to watch a bird drink.

Obi-Wan approached, movements slowed by the opposing force of the water. He waited for the winged creature to take flight, then he pounced.

The master tried to utter a cry, but was knocked beneath the surface.

Obi-Wan was reveling in his prowess at sneak attacks when he felt the terrible, intolerable tingles of…

Force-tickling.

His eyes widened and he rushed to escape his mentor's expert clutches. 

He failed. Miserably.

Qui-Gon grabbed him, encircling his waist with thick, strong arms. Obi-Wan was hoisted into the air, kicking and giggling. 

"Ma-a---a--asterrrrrr!!!"

The happy recollection slipped away. Deep reluctance seeped through his shields. 

He felt that day's simple contentment, having that special closeness, the bond tight and flourishing, all under a bright sky.

He felt it disappear from his steeled heart. All that remained was a hollow, festering pit.

Obi-Wan wanted to fling the covers aside and hasten to his master.

Former master.

A quick, sharp breath afflicted his chest. That wound was open, laying out for the painful elements to infect.

This was how he wished for things to be. He wants his Chosen One.

__

He expected the tears to flow, in mourning of a life and dear love lost.

He found he could not cry for that anymore.

Maybe he would survive this barren time. Maybe he would surrender to the agony.

But he could not cry for Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore.

He was gone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~


	2. Discord's Winter

**__**

Chapter Two: Discord's Winter

Autumn's shriveling has met its end

Dried leaves and bare trees

The sky darkens and snow descends

Smothering frost all one sees

The chill freezes a dormant heart

Troubled soul, seek out the warming cinder

To wait out this suffering, what has been endured from the bitter start

Fix your hopes upon the horizon, and survive discord's winter.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan rubbed his fingertips over the raised letters of the cold, otherwise slick nameplate. His memory was remarkably vivid, but most trivial things were smudged with age. He could picture the square shape…shapes were simpler, because those were able to be felt. Colors were difficult. He recalled the nameplates were all gold. But what was that? Sometimes Bant used to refer to his hair as a 'ginger' shade-was that the same?

A trembling hand went to his forehead. _Stop it. It doesn't matter anymore. What difference does color make? _He managed to key the entry code, then waited for the gush of air to alert him the door was open.

He stepped through into his apartment. Immediately, his focus was secured to his mental layout of the rooms. Twelve steps from the door to the couch. Three from there to the armchair. And the bedroom? _Let's stick to the basics for awhile. Pace yourself, Obi-Wan._ It was a bit strange. He always referred to himself inwardly that way. His words were too instructional for private dialogue. They almost sounded like---_never mind._

The knight returned to his task, beginning the short, carefully planned trek. One…two…three… He kept an arm raised, in case, for some reason, he was off.

He sensed his destination and, with a measure of caution, lowered himself to the soft cushion. Obi-Wan sighed, relaxing against the back.

His wounded shoulder ached dully. He massaged the damaged area. But the pain didn't recede. He probably should still be in the healing ward.

This was a natural part of recovery, though, and what purpose did staying in that place serve? Bant needed to tend to her other patients. His situation didn't really warrant around the clock care now. Rest was just as easily attained at home.

His muscles were sore and his limbs were heavy. The weariness was collecting in his head. 

Obi-Wan stretched out on the overstuffed piece of furniture. He was in the process of finding a comfortable position when his arm collided with a hard object. The Jedi frowned. He pulled it from beneath him.

At once he recognized the smoothed wooden cane. _Does she ever know when to let up? _In her quiet, nondescript, _sneaky_ way, Bant had slipped that cursed thing in his personal space! _Sometimes I wish she was brash and loud and try to force the cane into my hands. _Then_ I could yell at her and not feel terrible afterward! _But, how could one ever be remorseless after treating Bant harshly? Honestly, you couldn't.

However, her darling personality didn't make him want to use that walking stick anymore than before. He dropped it to the floor and fully reclined.

He heard the air conditioning, pleased by the gentle stirring of a breeze in his hair. A sleepy smile stretched his lips loosely.

Obi-Wan lay for a few moments, sliding from his languid state to the numbing caress of unconsciousness.

Then, a horrible specter rushed to the front of his mind. A red and black mess. The demon blade's deadly sparks. The smell of charred flesh.

He sat up, propping himself on his elbows, breathing heavily. 

Blood and darkness. Red and black.

The only shades he could distinguish.

At that moment, he missed the company of others. The support only those closest to him could provide.

He would not accept whatever was offered. He shied from the warm arms that sought to envelope him.

And grew colder.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin strode into his shared quarters with Qui-Gon. His talk earlier had greatly buoyed his esteem. It was good to know someone else understood his situation. Palpatine appreciated his talents. Maybe his master would too, if they were magnified for him a little.

On the way back from the Chancellor's office, the apprentice had run through his inventory of exceptional abilities, many Jinn was not even aware of. Anakin decided a high-level kata would be best. He had perfected an advanced saber technique, with some twists of his own design, and was sure the elder Jedi would be impressed.

Besides, _Obi-Wan _was most likely released from the healers by now. Which meant Qui-Gon was back to keeping full distance from the other man.

Which was exactly how it should be.

Anakin stopped when he saw Qui-Gon at the kitchen table.

Face buried in two large arms.

Snoring softly.

Skywalker snorted, with the palest tinge of contempt, walking past the oblivious master to the fridge unit. He stretched his arm far into its depths, and pulled out a green glass bottle. He swished its dwindling contents. From the look of things, Qui-Gon had indulged himself plenty tonight.

Maybe not , considering this liquor was top when it came to potency and fast effects.

Anakin had occasionally taken a drink of it. Never enough for his mentor to notice. Though he wasn't sure if the seasoned Jedi was observant enough to become wise to it the first place.

Sometimes Anakin forgot the rest of the universe wasn't as skilled as himself.

He sipped the drink, studying the man at the table. He was not the same strong, formidable warrior who had rescued him from the scathing tortures of Tatooine. This person, passed out drunk, smelling faintly of the alcohol coursing through his body, was old. His prime was enjoyed prior to Anakin's birth. He was slowing down. The boy saw it in his movements and longer mediations. The fine lines streaking from the corners of midnight blue eyes. Gray highlights dimmed the shine in otherwise brown hair.

He would be out until morning.

So would Anakin. He smirked, a spring to his step as he grabbed his cloak and headed for his favorite club.

Like all the questionable deeds his padawan committed, Qui-Gon wouldn't know.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme wheeled around when her old-world door was shoved open manually. Ileana, dressed in a crinkled, sea green dress, with her swept back into a bun, came rushing toward the surprised senator. Tears stood in emerald eyes. "Oh, Senator Amidala…"

The younger woman grasped the other's forearm. "Ileana, what happened?" Concern tightened her voice. "Did he injure you?"

Ileana shook her head while feverishly wiping the moisture from her gracefully aging face. "No. But, I saw his latest victim…By the god's mercy, it was awful."

"What? What did you see?"

She swallowed, a hand displaying the slightest of wrinkles going to her neck. Once composure was gained, Ileana forced herself to elaborate. "H-He told me that his latest client would spare no credits. The client wanted at least three. Fully-trained in combat." Her head bowed. "And minds wiped."

Padme's eyes narrowed in sharp interest. "Were there any names mentioned?"

"No." Ileana rasped. "But I did see a man. He had endured the memory removal. His skin was pale and he shook as though he were cased in ice. Berrel told me prices were increasing---that soon he would be rich enough to buy me a mansion on some sun-kissed beach."

The politician looked away while digesting the information.

"And---there is something else, Senator."

Padme turned her head back. 

"Berrel knows that I am assisting you. I convinced him that I am only throwing you off track in the investigation. He believes I still love him."

"Does this affect you, Ileana?"

Ileana smiled, but melancholy shadowed her expression. "I did love him once, Senator. It is very hard to turn your back on old affections."

__

Yes, it is. "I understand completely."

The woman nodded. More tears washed her eyes. Her lips surrendered to an emotional quivering. "But there is a limit to love. I reached that threshold when I saw that man suffering. Suffering for the selfish reasons of Berrel. Love may be everlasting, but it cannot blind you to the evils those you love can do."

Padme shivered.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon bent forward, stretching out his hand to caress Obi-Wan's cheek. A weak beam of light was cast upon the youthful face by a nearby lamp. The severely damaged skin around his eyes was healing well, and a new , pink layer was forming. Soon, there would be no visible sign of the horrible attack on the apprentice.

The soft spikes of hair were wilted and shaded his forehead. His eyes were closed, the bandages removed nearly three days before. When Obi-Wan had begun to show distress that evening, Qui-Gon was sure he would have awakened. He applied a small wave of Force soothing, and moments later the patient was peacefully sleeping once more. It had not been the master's intention to sedate him, but he couldn't stand to see his precious friend in pain. The physician informed Jinn that Kenobi could not be transported to Coruscant until he had been conscious long enough to access his overall condition. 

Now Qui-Gon was so anxious to return Obi-Wan to the comfortable surroundings of the Temple he was on the brink of shaking the unresponsive form.

"Master Qui-Gon…sir?"

Qui-Gon stood and walked over to Anakin. "What is it?" His voice was quiet and gentle.

The boy smiled. He liked the way the older Jedi treated him, and couldn't wait to start his training at the big city-planet they had visited before. Now, if only they could leave this dreary, featureless place! "When are we going to your home again?"

The tall man patted his shoulder. "As soon as Obi-Wan is awake for awhile."

Anakin tried to bite down on his lip to keep from frowning, but the master caught the expression anyway.

"The first rule of the Jedi is patience, young one." He admonished kindly.

He twisted his leg, watching his foot make streaks on the clean tile flooring. "Couldn't you just—make him wake up? You know, with your mind powers?"

Qui-Gon laughed for a moment. "Anakin, if he is still resting, it means his body is not rejuvenated."  


The tiny nose crinkled.

"Rejuvenated means getting your strength back. He needs to sleep as long as he is still weak."

Anakin sighed. "Okay. Well, could you show me some tricks with your lightsaber?" 

"Not in a hospital, I'm afraid."

Skywalker nodded, his eyes downcast. "What should I do, then?"

Qui-Gon was about to reply when he heard the crisp sound of sheets shifting. He looked back. 

Obi-Wan's eyelids were slowly opening.

He trotted to his bedside, and drew in close. "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, it's me."

The apprentice took a breath. "M-Master?"

"Yes." He murmured, stroking the dirty hair back. 

Obi-Wan smiled at the tender touch, and his eyes closed. "I was afraid. I-I didn't know what happened to you." His voice was an unsteady whisper. "I thought---"

A finger touched his lips. "Shhh. It's alright. I'm fine. I wasn't hurt." Qui-Gon kissed his forehead. 

"Hmmm….Good. I was…so scared…"

He opened his eyes fully then.

Qui-Gon had anticipated the reaction, but could not believe how deeply the grim surprise lanced through the master's heart. "Obi-Wan---"

Obi-Wan lifted a shaking hand to his face. "Master---Why can't I see you?"

"Obi-Wan…" He sat beside the upset man and grasped his free hand. "The burns were too severe. The doctors did their best, but-"

His mouth trembled. "Master, am I—blind?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Obi-Wan said quietly. A single drop of moisture glimmered in unfocused eyes.

Qui-Gon was silent, watching and waiting.

Anakin stood near the door. He felt sort of sorry for Kenobi. He started to edge out of the room.

Suddenly, a great sob ripped from Obi-Wan's throat, and he reached out wildly for Qui-Gon. 

The man gathered the other in his arms. The youth buried his head in a broad shoulder. 

"Master!" He clung to the man, gripping his back and dissolving into tears.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

An hour passed. Obi-Wan's cries were reduced to little ragged gasps. 

Some time during the outpouring, Qui-Gon had repositioned them on the bed so the suffering apprentice could lay against him, his head cushioned by his mentor's chest.

The wetness had dried on his cheeks. His dead stare was heavy-lidded. 

Qui-Gon thought he had never seen someone look so darkly beautiful when confronted with such utter tragedy. _There seemed to be no anger radiating from the still features, as he had expected. Only sad registration of his life's path twisted. It was his Obi-Wan before him, the self-same person who had illuminated his life with radiance, and taught him to be a father. _

Obi-Wan swallowed, his hand resting on the master's forearm. The healer had already came, made aware by a very excited Anakin Skywalker of the wakening. The patient was declared fit to be released to the Temple's hospital care.

He smiled when Qui-Gon tightened his embrace, but soon his brave front collapsed again. 

The night was long and restless.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~  


The morning sun peeked through the thin white drapes. Obi-Wan felt the warmth on his face and neck.

Qui-Gon brushed a stray strand of ginger away. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Obi-Wan fought the lamenting wails rising in his chest. His voice was soft and desolate. "I want to go home."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mejant Brei knocked at the steel, reflective door. Her long hair brushed against her slightly thick waist. Obsidion locks fell in her shining black eyes. Her latest mission had taken her far into the universe, away from her love.

The knight had known him since they were a mere fifteen years old. Their romance was begun not long after. Assignments often separated them, but neither had strayed.

She smiled when the door slid open. Obi-Wan stood before her.

Her happy expression faded. She stroked his face with a delicate hand. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head with a forced grin. "No hello?"

Mejant chuckled, but she sensed the sorrow buried in his Force presence. "Sorry. How about this?" She stood on her tip toes, and pressed full lips to his cheek. 

He kissed her back, though never touching her mouth. "I missed you." 

She linked her arm with his, leading him inside. They sat on the couch.

"What have you been doing?"

He turned his head in the direction of her voice. "Just…nothing."

Mejant took his hand. "Nothing? I talked to Bant."

Obi-Wan feigned a growl.

"Oh, stop it. You knew I'd find out." The humor fled her. "What happened?"

He pulled from her touch. "I was shot. And it made me sick for awhile. It's happened before."

She shook her head. "And it will happen again. I worry about you so much."

"Why?"

"Why?!" Mejant balked incredulously. Her shyness momentarily forgotten, she poured out her pent-up feelings. "Because you're different, Obi-Wan. Despite what you try to prove, you will still be different.

"You cannot face the same dangers other Jedi can. You are still completely valuable to the Order, but you shouldn't threaten that by going on unsuitable missions. What if---" She slapped a hand over her mouth. Tears slid from her widened eyes. She breathed heavily.

"Don't." He rasped, and walked away, closing himself into his bedroom.

Mejant's head fell to her hands. How did they come to this?

Initially after his blinding, he was quietly strong. He still showed his affection openly. But little by little, he changed. More days passed before he would contact her. Their time together was tense. He would only give passionless kisses and absent touches. 

She had believed it to be her fault. Now, after hearing Bant and many others, she knew better.

He was drifting from everyone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

A thunderbolt clapped, and Palpatine glanced up to watch rain beat down upon the Coruscant streets. It was an extreme rarity that the bustling, mostly artificial world received such a natural gift. The Chancellor had observed that whenever it did occur, it brought with it the chilly winds of change as it soaked the streets.

He remembered, while departing from a nauseating visit from the Jedi Temple, seeing a small child with a smudged face , wearing earth-toned clothes standing in the midst of a fierce storm with his mouth wide open, collecting the water in gulps.

He had not even been a Senator then, though still relatively high in government status. Well respected, at least. He curiously strolled up to the boy, and asked why he drank.

The child had blinked, staring up in bewilderment, the streams of moisture running down his face. His eyes were an unbelievably striking blue. "It's pure, sir. Like from heaven."

Palpatine had snorted then. "What do you know of heaven?"

The tike had shrugged tiny shoulders and taken another swallow. 

The man's interest had not faltered. The presence of this lad in the Force was nothing short of remarkable. A burning luminance in the Sith's black psyche. It disturbed him. "What are you doing out here alone? Didn't anyone ever tell you Coruscant is no place for children to wander after nightfall?"

A high-pitched laugh. "That's okay. I'll be fine."

Palpatine was amused at the youthful bluntness and optimism. "What makes you think that?"

Hair both light and dark plastered to the forehead, gleaming in the moon's glow, and the electric, blinking lights of surrounding businesses. "I'm a Jedi."

"Oh." _So I had assumed._ "Why aren't you inside?"

A smile of such tender innocence was displayed that Palpatine was very nearly entranced. "'Cuz it's too hard to feel the rain from there. Too many ceilings." He grumbled.

"Hm. How did you get out of there? I would think you would have others watching over you."

A mischievous look crossed over the elfin face before returning to its normal guilelessness. "It was really easy. I just---"

"Obi-Wan!" A young woman in similar Jedi garb dashed up to the peculiar pair. Her eyes were huge and full of unmasked worry. She glanced at Palpatine before focusing squarely on her little runaway. "What do you think you were doing?"

Obi-Wan gazed directly at her, then stuck a thumb in his mouth.

The Creche' master huffed and looked at the man. "Mr. Palpatine, thank you for catching him. I turned my attention for just a moment---"

He held up a hand, smiling that fake smile he reserved for those he despised, but must be civil towards. "No need for explanations, miss. I happened to stumble upon him."

Obi-Wan moved closer to the woman, and wrapped a short arm around her leg. There was an air of caution to him now.

Palpatine was impressed. Most children his age would still be all grins and giggles around everyone. 

Not this child.

He had bowed to the two Jedi and continued on his way.

On some level, he had been aware ever since that short meeting that their destinies were meant to collide.

The Chancellor reclined in his chair, stroking his chin absently. There was something unique in that youthful visage, that he had not glimpsed in person since their brief encounter at the landing pad. 

These days the Force, in the midnight tones it could form, spoke to him of changes.

He smirked, pressing the intercom. "Contact the Jedi Temple. Immediately."

A bluish, holographic form stood in miniature size. "Yes, sir."

The form vanished. Palpatine swiveled in his chair, studying the sheets of rain that blurred the cityscape. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"I'll take a Rousmeltia on the rocks."

The burly man cocked a furry, thick eyebrow. "You sure you old enough?"

Anakin smiled, dark twinkling in his eyes. He waved a hand nonchalantly. "I'm old enough. In fact, I shouldn't even have to pay."

Confusion misted the barkeep's face. "You're old enough. In fact, you shouldn't even have to pay."

A glass of iced orange liquor was slid his way. The Jedi apprentice downed it in a heartbeat. 

The man looked at him then, frowning. After brief hesitation, he moved down to serve another customer.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon moaned, the dull throb in his head pulling him rudely to consciousness. He lifted his head with deliberate slowness. His gray-streaked hair was mussed, and red veined his eyes.

He became aware he was at the kitchen table. The entire apartment was pitch black. 

__

Oh Force. Anakin. The master stood, leaning on the chair a moment while he gained balance. He couldn't detect the Padawan's presence, but his current state may have been the cause for that.

He stretched, earning a relieving pop of his back, and started down the hall. 

Hours had passed, as he could gauge from the stilled atmosphere. Qui-Gon rubbed his stomach when it gurgled. The drink always had repugnant effects on him. He didn't know quite why he enjoyed that sour taste, that warm flavor sliding down his throat and loosening his senses. _I should have meditated._

He stood at Anakin's door, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping.

He flattened a palm to the surface.

No need for quiet. The boy wasn't there.

Qui-Gon instinctively unhooked his commlink. He held it an inch from his mouth. "Anakin , where are you?"

The reply was instantaneous. "Master?"

"What are you doing out so late?" 

Anakin groaned inwardly . He already sounded on the verge of a reprimand. "I just thought you would like some peace and quiet, Master. I'm having tea at a café."

Jinn listened to the din reverberating from the communicator. What sort of café was the apprentice occupying? "Don't be long. Good-bye, Anakin."

"See you soon, master."

The man walked a step further. He cursed beneath his breath and activated the homing option.

In a flash, a short message had appeared on the screen: ZINDO'S PUB.

Qui-Gon fought the rage and irritation seething inside. He rushed to the door, grabbing his cloak, and went off after his wayward protégé.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped under the hot spray of the shower, letting the constant beat massage his tight muscles. The water coursed down his bare body. Suds cleansed impossibly clammy skin.

He had not meant to hurt Mejant. Her words were difficult to absorb without anger. 

Anger.

__

What leads to anger?

"Fear." He whispered aloud. The knight supposed that was accurate. Every moment, whether conscious of it or not, he was afraid. 

The pity that others deemed it necessary to broadcast was like a crudely fashioned dagger, jagged and effective, thrust into him. Over and over.

Then he bled. Agony burned in the crevices of his shielding. He could feel it. Despite his feverish, endless attempts to banish emotion to that place beyond his mental reaches, Obi-Wan could feel it.

Of course, there was no way of seeing the sad compassion etched in their faces. He didn't want to. Sometimes, as odd and twisted as it sounded, Obi-Wan was glad for the thick blackness securely mounted over his eyes. It prevented him from the full knowledge of how far his reputation had slipped. Masters, Knights even down to younglings eagerly asked if he needed aid. 

__

"Would you like me to help you to the lift?"

"I'll carry that for you, Knight Kenobi."

Obi-Wan began to carefully shave the thin stubble from his cheek.

A voice from long ago, deep and rumbling and too reminiscent of old pain. _"Is there anything I can get you?"_

He fumbled then, the razor's edge sinking into his flesh.

Tears mingled with fresh, hot liquid maroon.

What room did the Jedi Temple, teeming with the most talented and bright beings, the elite, have for an invalid?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mace Windu shook his head again. His fervent, brown gaze remained steadfastly on the other Council member. "No. This is ridiculous."

Eyes the hue of crisp lime closed. "Look into the future, you do not. There, the answers are."

The entire Order regarded Master Yoda as the epitome of Jedi wisdom and skill, including Mace. His prowess with a lightsaber was only surpassed by his keen sense of foresight. But that didn't mean he was almighty. The aged, tiny alien could be wrong. "You're inviting trouble. Worse, you're begging for it."

Yoda laughed softly, his shoulders shaking. "Too concerned, you are, of the now."

__

I could say the same of you regarding the morrows. "But it will not be limited to the present. If Obi-Wan is ordered to accompany Master Jinn and Padawan Skywalker, he will, simply, refuse. You cannot ask him to---"

Droopy ears folded to the sides of his head. "Hmmph. The will of the Force, ask, does it, to be carried out? No. I think not."

"You will force him to endure such a traumatic and unfair assignment? Do you consider the ramifications this will have?" He sighed. "It could destroy him."

"Who?"

Mace's mahogany countenance was dim. "Any of them. All of them. It's impossible to say."

"Look past that, you must. How know you, that this is not a salvation?"

"I saw Qui-Gon after it happened. He was beyond devastation."

Yoda merely smiled.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon stood in the intricate center of the Council Chamber. Thin, black designs circled his form. The lights above, usually a soothing, golden radiance, beat down on him. Heat smoldered behind his ears. A headache flared. At this moment, he wished nothing else but to return to the Healing Ward. Sit at his sorrowful apprentice's side, and spread the balm of his love over the pain. 

But, a tiny, shriveled bit of him, somewhere in a dank, hazy section of his heart, did not want to offer the comfort. He didn't know how he could bare the lifeless stare from eyes once overflowing. 

He didn't know if he could stand here and describe that day.

The grim events proceeding the Sith battle had postponed the official report of the Naboo mission. The master had NOT been looking forward to this meeting.

All twelve members were present today, seated in their round, cushioned steel chairs, pensive faces akin to a harsh, unforgiving jury.

What would his sentence be?

He had not abandoned his padawan. He refused to consider that. The Force had beckoned to him, in that demanding tone, swelling inside him until it was all he could feel…

"Know why your presence is required, do you, Master Jinn?" The gargled voice was not kind. It was as sharp as the wizened one could manage.

"Yes." He replied rather gruffly. "To elaborate on the result of our assignment. Sabe', Queen Amidala's decoy, was able to---"

"No." A wrinkled, three-clawed hand was held up to silence him. "Written report, have we for that. Informed we are not of what caused Padawan Kenobi's…" The little alien actually paused, clearing his throat, light lashes brushing against green skin. The Force stirred in reaction to his sadness. "Blinding."

Qui-Gon looked away, past the attentive group, toward the span of buildings and zooming cloud cars. "He---fell. Several levels down, he told me. His leg was broken a-and he was immobilized. The Sith---" He had to strive very hard not to call the demented, evil creature something less polite, "strode up to him and…slashed his lightsaber across Obi-Wan's eyes."

A tense quiet fell, as the bearded man sensed the new layer of grief lain. Adi Gallia, often reflective and quiet rather than overly opinionated, replied first. "Why were you not there to assist your apprentice?"

The inquiry was neutral enough, yet it was a powerful blow to his shaky defenses. "I---Before the duel had moved to the generator, I was---compelled---by the Force. It spoke to me. It told me to find the Queen. I did as I have always been taught." He did not waver in either tone or gaze. "I obeyed the Force.

"I discovered Queen Amidala injured, as is stated in the report. I saw that she received medical attention, then retrieved Obi-Wan."

The summary sounded cold and rehearsed, not reflecting the horrid reunion with his Padawan. How could he explain the smoking face, the blackening of soft, light skin? They, despite their vast realms of knowledge, could not comprehend. 

Yoda was watching him, cracked lips turned down. Woe hung over him like fog. "Justify your abrupt departure, you believe?"

Qui-Gon approached his response carefully. "I believe Queen Amidala stood little chance of survival without my assistance."

"We cannot argue your own harmony with the Force. If you state this was what occurred, we cannot doubt you. You are a Master of the Jedi arts, and your judgement is trusted."

Jinn turned to Mace Windu. 

"There is nothing we can say to reprimand your actions. Obi-Wan's loss is tremendous, but…" The man's hand went to his forehead. "You believe you had your reasons."

Qui-Gon was silent and motionless. Regret was etched in every being. They WANTED to rightly punish him. The aura of frustration thickened. It was difficult to gather a breath.

Finally, thankfully, Yoda spoke. "Dismissed, you are."

No 'May the Force be with You', not even a feeble farewell.

The tall, muscled master walked from the room.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Obi-Wan rolled from his side to his back, thrashing listlessly. Tears seeped from clenched eyelids.

His breathing intensified until his chest was heaving.

With a throaty cry, he sat up.

And was surrounded by the support of arms. Soft, wrapped around him.

"Obi-Wan. It's okay. I'm right here."

He held onto Mejant, pressing against her, wanting the warmth radiating from that compassionate soul. 

Her hands curled to cup the base of his neck. She shushed him. "You're alright."

Obi-Wan nodded, suddenly embarrassed at the hot moisture dampening her tunic shoulder. He pulled back.

His heart sunk into the rising current of despair. He had been expecting to peer at her face, framed by long, irrepressibly straight, silken black locks. The woman he had cherished and ushered through the deepest corridors of his being. 

He saw nothing but the blank expanse.

Never would he see the rounded nose, , huge brown eyes that when closed displayed the loveliest pair of thick, curling lashes. He had lost the gift of watching her lips quiver, or stretch into a smile.

A great rage swept through him, bending the theories he had developed to shield his tortured mind as if they were willowy reeds. What remained after the onslaught was the bared truth.

No. It was not lost. It was taken. My sight was stolen. 

"Obi-Wan?" Mejant was stroking his cheek. He could easily read the concern in her movements. "What's the matter? Love---"

"I---need to be alone. There is something…I must think over."

"Oh." Her attentive hand fell. He listened as she rose and felt her hair brush against his neck. The agony needled him again. He remembered her hair being so black it almost appeared to glint blue in the light…

"Mejant."

"Yes?" She sounded relieved he was not leaving their conversation this way. 

He nearly smiled. "I love you…so much." 

His mouth was covered by the gentle pressure of a kiss. 

Then she was gone.

Obi-Wan remained sitting. Exhaustion ached inside him. 

He had never been so tired.

The young man craved sleep. His recovering body screamed for it. But Mejant's words haunted him.

"You're alright."

It was the first time he had ever heard a lie pass through her sweet lips.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon walked down the final hallway. His pride was wounded, for the silent accusations had impregnated the air, and lingered in him. A group of beings he had trusted as friends, or at the very least polite acquaintances, were now tolerating_ him with an angry, regretful regard. _

It was hard to endure the hard looks and shaking heads. Could no one understand?

The master stopped at his apprentice's hospital room. Hopefully, Obi-Wan would be discharged soon. He gave a light tap to announce his entry.

"Come in."

Qui-Gon complied, pausing to note the quiet monotone. "Obi-Wan?" He had been prepared to find the younger man asleep. He was currently seated in his bed, back rigid, hands folded in his lap. Shadow ringed his pale, unfocused eyes. 

Concerned, Jinn took quick steps to his protégé's , sinking down beside him. "It's late."

"I know." Obi-Wan murmured. He lifted his head towards where he heard the masculine vocals. His mouth was a straight, still line. 

A rough-hewn hand touched his cheek. Obi-Wan leaned into the palm, then drew back with a shuddering gasp.

"What?"

Kenobi made no move to wipe the light drips of tears. 

Qui-Gon studied their odd sparkle, fear welling in his chest. "Padawan, what is it?"

What happened next was totally unanticipated.

Obi-Wan laughed. A long, sharp, bitter chuckle. "Padawan?" He mocked. "I do not sense your padawan here."

"What are you talking about?" Qui-Gon grasped his arms and shook him gently. "YOU are my padawan, Obi-Wan."

The smile vanished. The tears now slid to trace his jaw line. "Are you ill, Master Jinn? Or simply outrageously forgetful?"

"W-What?" He sputtered.

"How could you not remember? You saw something --quite wonderful, I suppose--in Anakin. And dropped me as if I was a burning Talikis potato." Fingers smoothed his hair, but he batted them away. "In front of the most esteemed Jedi in the Order, you rejected me. Again."

"Obi-Wan…It was necessary. They were going to cast him out---"

"So better to have cast me out instead?" Pain flooded their mental connection. New and aged agony that had been deteriorating his soul, never allowed freedom. TODAY would be liberation. "I have to wonder if you ever truly had a care for me at all."

"Of course I-"

"No." His eyes sealed. "I don't want to hear." He swallowed. "But I would think I deserved something after years of dedication and---love. I have willingly given you everything. All that I am, I surrendered to you. Ironic, isn't it? I have been blind most of my life."

"No---" The man was on the verge of pleading.

"Yes, Master Jinn. And you WILL answer my question.

"What failings have I committed that would make you desert me in battle---without warning? What did I do?" Harsh desperation shook the weary frame.

Qui-Gon gripped the other's hands. "Nothing. You did nothing. The Force called to me." 

"Oh." A ghost of the resentful smile resurfaced. "Broad excuse, don't you think?" He was a statue for a moment, breathless and devoid of emotion.

Then he began to sob.

The master gathered him in unyielding, strong arms. Obi-Wan collapsed against his chest, resting his head on a massive shoulder.

It would be so easy, he mused, to remain in the warm embrace. Let the fury settle until it collected and retreated to his heart, where it would stay. Where it would wear down that fragile place until it was raw and…useless. Qui-Gon began rocking him, whispering endearments…

Obi-Wan would not be lulled. 

He repositioned himself so his cheek was lain against Qui-Gon's, their temples touching. An uneven exhale slipped from his mouth. A horrible, old longing rose in him. But this man would never be the father he had wished for. It was time to stop the pitiful dreams. Maybe he was never meant to have a family.

Perhaps he was destined to wander the universe alone. 

In the dark.

Qui-Gon's tears mingled with his own. He could wait no longer. "I---am dying inside, Master Jinn. I have been ripped from my former existence by the worst enemy of my Order. I can't study Mejant's beauty. I won't have the chance to watch another golden sunrise.

"When Master Yoda shears my braid, I will only imagine the fall of it."

Qui-Gon tried to interrupt, Obi-Wan heard the catch in his throat and shook his head. "He has already agreed to my ascension to knighthood. Without you."

When the hulking man started pulling away, Obi-Wan forced him back. Their cheeks pressed. "It is not what I want. For years, it was my prospect to have you at my side for the ceremony." He rasped vehemently. "But now, I must do justice to myself. I can't ignore what you have done this time. You have taken my life from me." His lips were close to Qui-Gon's ear. The final murmur was laced with misery and resolve.

"And you are dead to me."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stormed down the crowded streets. This was a low level of Coruscant, where bums huddled in groups with musty, stained rags draped over their trembling shoulders. Fights were violent, deadly brawls that erupted rampantly. Even at this sluggish hour, quiet was nonexistent. 

Everything was bathed in neon light buzzing from animated signs. Small, crumbled shops were lined along, leading to a larger club. In the eerie glow of midnight, _Zindo's Pub_ looked like a grim, uninviting dark cave.

He had never been a patron of the place. As a Jedi, he held himself with a clean sort of dignity.

__

So when YOU want to drink yourself into oblivion, you just stay at the Temple.

The master stopped. His hand went to his forehead. The words had sprang from his own mind, but sounded like, _felt_ like, foreign thought.

A huge, bulky creature bumped into him, and Qui-Gon was startled back to the present.

Drowsy-lidded orange eyes, watery and lazy from enormous liquor consumption bore into him. "Hey! You wanna watch where ya' goin…?" The towering, scaled alien slurred.

Qui-Gon wasn't intimidated. From the pungent stench the stranger reeked of, the Jedi would be impressed if he didn't fall flat on his face in five minutes. "I'm very sorry."

A loud and stale burp. "Happens e-gain, I'll tear yourrr head off."

Qui-Gon smiled, concealing a grimace, and continued on his search. 

As he walked, several women with fake, glittering lashes and dangerously short skirts brushed past him. A few offered him a lusty sigh.

He was disgusted, though he could understand. Their poverty left little option that was not sinless and sparsely paying. Morals had a weak following in the slums.

Which begged the question:

Why was Anakin here?

There was a burst of cackles and whoops , and a sickly, cold certainty rushed down his spine. Qui-Gon approached in gradual steps. The crowd was tight, but he was able to wiggle his way through to the core of the noisy circle.

A small, balding man was leaning on the bar, sloppily gulping a ruby red beverage. His wrinkled button-up top did little to conceal a swelled, hairy belly. From the hardness of it, Qui-Gon guessed he was a veteran lush.

Standing beside him was a much taller man, slim and broad-shouldered in a deep brown cloak. His head of sandy hair was thrown back. The same colored substance slid from the glass to his throat smoothly . When he slapped the empty container down, cheers erupted. Several scantily clad girls stroked his arm or kissed his cheek in congratulations.

Anakin had obviously won the contest.

A grin split the youthful face.

The defeated man snorted, booze running from his stubble-covered mouth and slithering along several chins. He wiped half-heartedly at them. "You cleaned out m'pockets, kid. I don't think I'll be getting' that damn medicine m'old woman keeps telllin' me to get." He belched. "S'okay. What do doctors know anyway?" He gave Anakin a friendly punch. "That was credits well spent! Nobody ever challenged me to no drinking contest in…days!" Hoarse chortles followed.

Qui-Gon caught his apprentice sneer disdainfully at the man. He stuffed the money in a tunic fold and started walking away. A woman with big, shining eyes and a glitzy mini-dress took his hand.

Anakin ripped himself from her loose hold. "What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?!"

She took a little leap back. "I just thought---"

He laughed, the sound biting and arrogant. "You thought? Do you know what I am? WHO I am?"

She shook her head, painted lips captured between crooked teeth. "No---"

"Of course you don't. I'm a Jedi. The best of them all. So why would you _ever_ even entertain the notion I would be interested in ghetto garbage like you?"

"That's enough." Qui-Gon barked, emerging from the mass of creatures and clutched Anakin's arm. 

Artificial red light spilled from a fixture above, onto the flushed face of Skywalker. "What---"

Qui-Gon turned to gently address the girl. "Please excuse us, miss."

She nodded, and was off, scampering toward the exit.

The sight of tears shimmering on her lashes stayed with the master. He looked at his protégé, who was glaring openly at him.

He had to nearly shout to be heard over the din of upbeat music. The words were, unmistakably, a growl. "We'll discuss this at home."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stood on his apartment balcony.

Rain poured, glistening in his hair and leaving a sheen over his face. He loved to be among the rushing waters. The cool moisture pooling in every surface of Coruscant. He could hear it. Smell it. Feel it. Taste it.

He opened his mouth and dipped his head back. 

But the rain was not sweet as it had been on those long-ago nights, when the storms would seem so cleansing. Clear droplets that fell from heaven. Now the taste was bland and…

Obi-Wan walked forth, his movements not as measured as usual. He knew this place well. Better than his quarters. His hands wrapped around the cold, wet railing, and he leaned forward, the gush of wind ruffling his hair and tickling his neck.

His breath was stolen away by the strong surges of air. His thin sleep clothes were drenched.

The days, the weary, grim days, pressed in on him. Thoughts assaulted him: of stupid fights and lost time. Feeling useless. An oppressive force, standing in the way of others' happiness. Pinning them down with pity.

Saffron and blood eyes narrowed. A soft, wicked chuckle. Unimaginable pain.

Turning his back on what he loved most.

__

And for what?!

In a ragged slip of self-awareness, he screamed.

For as long as his throat would hold out, he yelled his frustrations incoherently.

Draining only his strength. He knew his spirit was already spent.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Berrel's thin lip curled, revealing a single golden tooth among the two white rows. His metal hand propped his unshaven chin. "Jedi, huh?"

Ileana nodded.

He was silent for a moment, then laughed lightly, reaching out to stroke her red hair behind her ear. "That Senator broad is serious about ruining me." Humor flashed brilliant in his eyes. "I guess she underestimates my secret weapon." He kissed Ileana, smiling.

She blushed. "I was surprised she decided to contact the Jedi Temple." Her gaze fell.

The man frowned. The glowing, artificial fingers touched her wrist. "You sound unsure. You---think I should be taking more precautions?"

She shrugged. "I've never dealt with Jedi before. The only instances I've heard of them were in tales during my childhood. But they are the supposed protectors of the galaxy."

"Yeah." He grunted. "And they seem like a dying breed. Maybe I won't even have to worry about them. The last idiot Jedi who came here died. Remember the huge funeral?"

Ileana nodded again.

"Hey, if worse comes to worse, there can be a few more of those. What business is it of theirs? They're meddlers, Leana, pure and simple. Should I shake in my boots at the thought of them? All they do is intimidate others. I am _never_ intimidated."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant stared down at the holopad. It had arrived at the Healing Ward late, which was an oddity in itself. She had curiously read through it.

And she did not like what it said.

"_The Jedi Council requests you to evaluate Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi's health condition. It must be ascertained if he is capable of participating in an official mission---"_

As a head Healer of the Order, she had memorized the form letter, and usually it was just asking for her to carry out the procedure of medical clearance speedily. 

It was different now. Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, _Obi_, was different. He was sufficiently recovered from his illness and injury, but his eyes would always be afflicted. The Council was hesitant about allowing him to participate in assignments, which was why he was subjected to those which were more suiting older padawans. Bant had to admit, it had to be pretty embarrassing. Obi-Wan was a fully grown, extremely talented Knight. Everyone continued to shelter him as if he were a fragile, trembling thing, on the brink of breaking. He was definitely 'capable' of most any mission.

That, however, did not mean she was willing to give him her professional permission. Bant was not certain she wanted his safety on her conscience.

She remembered the bright confidence always shining in her lifelong friend, his grace and unequaled stamina. 

Such a depressing contrast to the present. Obi-Wan was a pale shadow of the man he had been.

What was unrelentingly heartbreaking was he knew it. He carried that tragic understanding.

He did not need to be insulted with her refusals. Bant quickly signed the document.

Rain hammered the windows.

She could not hear the release of her blinded companion's screams, wails like a wounded wolf would emit…

Or a forgotten ghost.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Their footsteps thudded on the sidewalk. The cold air flushed their cheeks, already fiery from the brief confrontation. 

Anakin took a deep breath, and wasn't bothered when it was exhaled as a sharp hiss. The anger was boiling dangerously near his surface. He didn't care if his master was irked by lack of control.

After all, Anakin had some measure of control.

Or Qui-Gon Jinn would have been nursing an ugly bruised eye by now.

He couldn't believe the audacity of that stubborn man! Yanking him, an adult, out of that club like he was a badly behaving toddler! 

__

Hypocrite. A small, gravelly voice whispered, far inside the murkiest chamber of his mind.

__

Yes. Anakin agreed, glancing at the moon , hindered by black clouds. _Stupid hypocrite._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The tense walk finally ended as the pair entered the silent, shadowy apartment.

The younger man moved to switch on the lights while the other settled gratefully in the closest chair.

Anakin was walking towards the corridor when Qui-Gon cleared his throat.

The tall apprentice stopped, the slightest murmured curse falling from his mouth. He turned to look at his mentor.

Qui-Gon's sage, blue gaze studied him. After a deliberating moment, he spoke. "You saw me."

The statement was bland and strangely emotionless. 

Anakin sat across from the elder. It occurred to him that they were returned to the base of the evening's troubles. He ran his finger along the kitchen table, eyes carefully lowered. "Yes."

Qui-Gon nodded, still without animation. "And you left for that pub."

"Uh-huh."

"I see."

It was akin to being interviewed for a census. Anakin almost wished he would go into a feverish, enraged rant. The blank expression before him was unnerving. It reminded him of a faulty circuit that slows before exploding in a shower of sizzling sparks.

Qui-Gon's head rested in his large, rough palms. Then, he rose smoothly to his feet, took a step, and pulled Anakin up. He gripped the Padawan's shoulders.

Anakin saw the time wearing down the proud leonine features. More than ever, his master wore the weary marks of age. A hand started to rise toward his face…

__

Please. Don't let him slap me. I'll lose it. Who does he think he is? He can't do that to me…He'll be sprawled on the floor when I'm done with him.

But then the hard visage melted. Tender care glimmered in moist orbs.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers across Anakin's cheek, and embraced him.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

He ran. In a daze, the incredible hurt creeping up, he burst out the Healing Ward and flew up the flights of stairs, the idea of taking the time-effective lift never crossing into consideration.

Qui-Gon stopped at his apartment, where the Jinn/Kenobi nameplate continued gleaming obliviously. He sealed his eyes, tears slipping from the corners, and fumbled to key the entry code.

He walked inside with a relieved gasp.

And saw Anakin Skywalker curled up on the sofa. His little head popped up at the arrival. Youthfully innocent eyes sparkled amidst long, straight, straw-colored hair. "Qui-Gon!" He exclaimed, and was a blur until he reached the Jedi master's side.

Qui-Gon felt the small arms wrap around his waist. He knew he had been shamefully neglectful to the child these weeks. He had been so busied…elsewhere.

He shuddered. The pain clawed at him again. Images of Obi-Wan, broken to pitiful, unrecognizable bits, rose in his awareness.

Broken, yet stronger, more resolved, than ever before.

Obi-Wan had taken those shards of himself, those beyond any repair, and sank them into his master's heart.

"… you are dead to me."

His eyes, rebellious to his desperate orders to compose, watered. A weak sob grew in his chest.

Anakin frowned, tugging at a billowing, cream sleeve. "Master Qui-Gon? What's wrong?"

The concerned tone of the still-sweet voice nearly caused him to smile. He bent his head down to see a tear land on the boy's cheek. It caught the lights of the room and became a tiny diamond upon smooth skin. 

Qui-Gon dropped to Anakin's level, he suspected because his knees would no longer support his devastated frame. He glimpsed a staggeringly magnificent, important_ future in the simple face. The trail this very boy could blaze…would lead the universe, the Force, to balance. And wasn't that the master's purpose?_

It is now.

__

"Are you okay?"

Qui-Gon drew a shallow breath in. His heart was sorely bruised, but perhaps there was a balm for such things. A genuine smile crossed his mouth. "I will be."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The sun conquered the moon, and took reign over the sky once more, shedding the darkness for a golden light that cascaded down upon Coruscant.

Evidence of the night's storm dried on the sidewalks and wiped from the windshields of cloud cars.

The newly born day spread warmth across Obi-Wan's cheek. He frowned, twisting onto his side and curling into a shivering ball. How was it that heat radiated from the window, as always, but he was freezing cold?

He coughed into his fist, and heard the rattling of congestion in his lungs. His skin was chilly and damp.

Obi-Wan began to lift his head when ache blossomed in it. His sightless, useless eyes were itchy.

Another hacking wracked his body, and he placed his hand to his chest.

His light sleep clothes were dripping wet and clung to his body. He reached for his thick blanket, which was usually kicked to the bottom of his bed sometime during the course of slumber.

His fingers raked against the soft, worn sofa material.

"Damn!" The expletive was hoarsely sounded, his throat suffering with every syllable. 

He had stumbled in from the balcony, drenched and depressed. Exhaustion must have led him no farther than the living room. And left him with a rather nasty cold.

He heard mechanical beeps near the door. The groggy knight eased himself up and relied on calculations to bring him to the comm unit safely. _Seventeen steps…_

Sure enough, his hand touched on the steel communicator. He searched for the raised lettering that represented the 'new messages' button. He pressed it.

"The Jedi Council officially requests your presence in the main chamber at noon. A mission will be presented to you," Here the automated words were exchanged for a Padawan's voice: "Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan promptly erased it, grumbling as he headed to his bedroom, hoping the stuffiness in his head would dissipate.

There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his mental tone. _What exciting endeavor will it be this time? _

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin stood in the lavatory, body straight and hands on his hips, staring into the mirror. His dark layers of tunics were perfectly aligned, and accented his muscular chest. His Padawan braid was neatly plaited, hanging just below his shoulder. He frowned looking at the blonde, entwined strands. No matter where he went, everyone knew he was a mere student.

Most apprentices treasured their braids as symbols of learning and companionship. Anakin wasn't so easily fooled. It was a reminder of their lower status among the Jedi ranks.

And he couldn't wait to be rid of it.

He cared for Qui-Gon, of course. The man had strove to bring him his true destiny when others would have swept him aside. Qui-Gon _believed _in Anakin. Above everyone else.

Even _him._ In the end, even _him._

He smiled smugly, glancing at his reflection with satisfaction before opening the left drawer. 

There was Padme Amidala, gazing up at him, with her beautiful brown eyes, deep like a mysterious chasm, but always inviting. The holo had been featured in a magazine he caught sight of during a trip to the market. Master Jinn would naturally have disapproved his keeping of it. A Jedi was devoted to justice and the supreme will of the Force.

But there were other things. 

Besides, this wasn't a silly infatuation. _Love_ was the needle that had sewn his heart, prevented him from so much as glancing at another. Padme was the exquisite, glittering thread. Without her presence, at least in his memories, Anakin fell apart.

He _would_ know her again. 

"Anakin, its time to go."

Qui-Gon's voice broke through his musings.

Anakin studied the mirror's display. A feeling stirred inside him. Was it premonition? He wasn't sure. All he was certain of was that it made him grin. Widely. "Yes, Master."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped through the opening door, into the hallway, and heard a startled gasp.

Mejant put a hand to her chest. "Obi, you scared the Force out of me! I couldn't sense you!"

He turned in the direction of her lilting voice. "Sorry."

She captured his forearm between her fingers and pulled him gently closer. "What are you apologizing for? I'm the one who was sneaking around. I should have contacted you before I dropped by." The knight watched her intimate companion attempt to smile. The expression seemed to hurt him.

"It's okay. You don't need to do that." He murmured.

Mejant leaned forward and pecked his check. "I was still rude…Where are you off to?"

Striking cerulean orbs looked past her. "I've been summoned by the Council to receive a new mission."

The happiness that resulted in her face from his presence lessened. Her mouth sank to a line. "Already?"

"You don't think I'm ready?" He retorted defensively.

"Obi-Wan---"

"Not that much preparation goes into carrying some official document from point a to point b, Mejant. Anyone, Jedi or not, could do it with their eyes closed."

The irony smarted. She grimaced, and was thoroughly glad he wasn't aware. "You know that is not the caliber of assignments you have been given."

He laughed, a short, acerbic sound, very unlike him. "How would _you_ describe them?"

Mejant hesitated. It was partly accurate, she guessed. "Your missions are, well, I don't know how to…"

"They're better suited for a teenage courier."

She sighed. "The Council does not mean to make you feel slighted."

He reached out, and took a tendril of thick hair in his hand, letting it fall from his grasp, the silky strands brushing against his skin. "Well, they do. I feel like a pile of dust swept under the rug. As if I'm not…"

A hard, unexpected sob broke free.

Mejant instinctively gathered him to her, ignoring the warm moisture starting in her own eyes. "As if you're not what?"

Obi-Wan rested his cheek against her head and breathed in her scent. Clean and sweetly fresh. He wanted to collapse, sink down into this comfort, and just _forget_. "As if I'm not real." His accent thickened with emotion.

Mejant began to cry with earnest sorrow. "Obi-Wan---"

But he abruptly ended the tender embrace. He started to head toward the lift.

"You can't keep walking away!" She called after him.

"It's worked so far."

Mejant stood dumbstruck where she was, mouth covered. Tears ran heedlessly down. Every conversation ended with angry or unexplained departures. No additional territory was ever gained. They were forever still in this horrible spot.

Maybe Obi-Wan was right. The thought was imbedded in her mind faster than she could react. _He doesn't feel real…not even to me._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

The stirring of air created by Qui-Gon's exit chilled him. 

He sat, his hands twisted in the blankets, deathly motionless. 

The magnitude of his actions were just beginning to absorb into his psyche.

But instead of immense sadness, or anger, he was confronted by a well-preserved stash of yesterdays.

He remembered leaping freely into a lake, mere inches from his master. Looking at that leonine, dignified face…water dripping from his beard and grayish brown hair hanging in his eyes. Erupting in laughter when a counter splash was silently issued, spraying droplets onto his cheeks.

The sun beat down on their bare shoulders and lent a brown cast to ivory. Orange glints were captured in their joyous gazes. 

Qui-Gon turned around to watch a bird drink.

Obi-Wan approached, movements slowed by the opposing force of the water. He waited for the winged creature to take flight, then he pounced.

The master tried to utter a cry, but was knocked beneath the surface.

Obi-Wan was reveling in his prowess at sneak attacks when he felt the terrible, intolerable tingles of…

Force-tickling.

His eyes widened and he rushed to escape his mentor's expert clutches. 

He failed. Miserably.

Qui-Gon grabbed him, encircling his waist with thick, strong arms. Obi-Wan was hoisted into the air, kicking and giggling. 

"Ma-a---a--asterrrrrr!!!"

The happy recollection slipped away. Deep reluctance seeped through his shields. 

He felt that day's simple contentment, having that special closeness, the bond tight and flourishing, all under a bright sky.

He felt it disappear from his steeled heart. All that remained was a hollow, festering pit.

Obi-Wan wanted to fling the covers aside and hasten to his master.

Former master.

A quick, sharp breath afflicted his chest. That wound was open, laying out for the painful elements to infect.

This was how he wished for things to be. He wants his Chosen One.

__

He expected the tears to flow, in mourning of a life and dear love lost.

He found he could not cry for that anymore.

Maybe he would survive this barren time. Maybe he would surrender to the agony.

But he could not cry for Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore.

He was gone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~


	3. Destiny's Darkest Steps

**__**

Chapter Three: Destiny's Dark Steps

It only hurts when I'm breathing

My heart only breaks when its beating

My dreams only die when I'm dreaming…

So I'll hold my breath 

To forget…

It only hurts when I breathe

---Shania Twain

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Small spaces were mastered easily, furniture was placed in a certain area, and left there. After a short while, memorization was complete. The black span before him didn't seem quite as long, not nearly as daunting.

The Temple corridors were far more difficult to maneuver through.

His senses had to be sharpened and fully alert. He needed to stay near the walls and railings for plain self-assurance and security. If someone passed by, Obi-Wan didn't want to be caught off guard and smack into them.

According to a distinctly bashful, but thoroughly protective and intelligent Mon Calamarian, a cane could alleviate some of the discomfort.

__

Why don't I just sprout a white beard that touches the floor while I'm at it?

The softer texture of carpet beneath his boots gave way to hard tile. 

"Knight Kenobi?" An adolescent voice floated up, somewhere to his left side. He stopped, and titled his head minutely in the other's direction.

"Yes?"

He heard footsteps quickly heading toward him. A warm hand captured his forearm. "The Council is ready to receive you."

Obi-Wan gave a stiff nod. "Thank you." To his great displeasure, the male padawan, while stifling his own nervousness, lead him into the adjoining room.

He was too tired to object to the blatant disregard for his basest ability. _How would he know I'm quite capable of walking into the Chamber? _

I'm blind.

It's a common assumption.

He made it to the center, or at least he hoped it was, and prepared to be addressed, hands folded.

There were faint stirrings, and a quiet throat clearing, but nothing else. The pain in his head grew, burning above his brow. His body was clinging to the sluggish speed and aches from earlier. His entire focus was bleary.

Which made it much worse on his shielding.

"Patience, Obi-Wan." A kind, urging gurgle. "Wait, we all must, for remaining members of mission team."

Obi-Wan was stunned. If it weren't for his skill in reflexes, his jaw would have been hanging slack. _Team?_ The news buoyed him. Maybe the Council was realizing the extent of his talent that counteracted the severe handicap. Obi-Wan couldn't figure what that was, but he was certainly glad they were allowing him to branch out. Even if he was assigned to be a shield for his peers under a barrage of blaster fire, he would accept with an eager attitude.

"I am gratef---"

The words were stolen away by the new arrivals. Two. 

Instantly he knew the identity of the master. His mind absently supplied the younger Jedi's name.

They were the only people in this grand place he had successfully dodged for these last ten years. The people he would willingly leap out a thirty story window to avoid.

The people now standing two feet from him.

"Obi-Wan."

Someone was speaking to him, in a gentle, masculine rumble, but he was already detached from reality. 

__

No. It doesn't make any sense. The Council would never, Yoda would never…

The searing flames in his head were fanned. The saliva dried in his throat. His heart suffered erratic bursts of beating. He felt faint.

__

No. It can't be…

A thrill of panic snapped inside. _I could run…_

"Master Jinn, Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker," Mace began, apparently unaware of his upset, " You have been requested by the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine to aid the Naboo government. Queen Jamilla reports the law enforcement has been overwhelmed by the…"

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"Terror created by a kidnapping ring. Senator Padme Amidala had headed the investigation, with the aid of a mole inside the underground operation, and …"

Qui-Gon leaned a bit forward, looking past his raptly attentive apprentice to Obi-Wan. The Knight's face was a smooth mask of Jedi serenity. But Jinn had spent a significant amount of his life with him, knew when swirling clouds formed over cerulean eyes, caught lightning fast flickers in his resolve.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was immensely troubled.

And the Master could hardly blame him. Though his shielding was immaculate, every delicately built wall in place, there were cracks. Despite the other man's feverish, never-ending efforts, Qui-Gon was continually linked to him on some level. They were bonded by a weak, almost transparent wisp of the Force.

Weak, but present.

He watched as Kenobi took a small step farther from Anakin's side, fingers curling around his wide cloak sleeve opening. 

A rueful smile lifted the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. _He always did that when he was nervous… I suppose I never got around to fixing the habit…_

A cold roil set off in his belly. _There were many things I never got around to…_

Qui-Gon saw the gleam of the chamber's light ring around Obi-Wan's hair. A strange sort of glowing halo settled in the ginger mane. It reminded him of the last time they stood together in this ornate circle, back when he was an innocent Padawan, braid trailing to his chest. Brightness always flocked to Kenobi.

As it did now, steady on his cheek, softening his skin. 

Yet, when he focused on that face, he beheld the changes. 

And felt a painful shaft through his heart.

Obi-Wan was no longer innocent.

Worst of all, Qui-Gon realized, it could very well be his fault.

An image sprang into his mind, inexplicable, and vivid. 

Shattered glass. You couldn't touch such jagged, sharp things, never reassemble what was destroyed.

You just suffered the wounds.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin's heart was racing. 

That name. He had never heard it spoken, outside of his own lusting murmurs, since they returned from their final visit to Naboo. _Padme. Padme Amidala._

Joy was brimming in his heart, and for a moment, his other concerns, such as the way his master was staring at that damn Kenobi, were forgotten.

"…her many efforts have yielded little success. At the most, her investigation has compiled a basic description of a typical kidnapping victim. Muscular, young men, often with combat training. These crimes are on the rise, and the quick escalation is more than the Senator can handle. 

"Her request to Palpatine for Jedi assistance was readily accepted. The Supreme Chancellor asked that those assigned to this mission would be very familiar with Naboo, thus saving valuable time an introduction to the area would take."

__

Oh, I am very familiar with Naboo. I memorized the slopes in the grassy hills, each design in the palace's ancient pillars, every curve…

"Of course, you three are the only Jedi in the Temple to have visited the planet."

Anakin nodded, scarcely able to breathe from excitement.

Yoda's droopy gaze had been on Obi-Wan since the briefing began, and they did not shift when the withered alien spoke. "Trying, this mission will surely be. Explained, Senator Amidala has, that this underground group, violent they are. And private, as well as careful. Many obstacles to overcome."

The apprentice had been in the master's company often enough to understand the cryptic multiple meaning. He glanced discreetly at Kenobi, whose lips were tightly compressed as he listened.

Anakin could feel the Force surrounding the Knight, and sensed a strange murkiness. Nothing was clear to decipher. There was, Anakin admitted with irritation, impressive armor guarding Kenobi's thoughts. No doubt dented by Qui-Gon's probing, but strong nonetheless.

There was something beyond that.

Anakin invaded a little further, his presence disappearing under heavy cloaking.

He saw Kenobi's hand go to his head, and the Padawan slipped out to avoid suspicion. 

But not before he witnessed the dismal atmosphere in that elusive soul. Shadows, restless shadows, crept over Kenobi's unknown thoughts.

Anakin could predict what those nameless muses were.

__

Fear.

He had to suppress a grin. 

The oh-so-valiant Obi-Wan Kenobi, hero and blind martyr, former student of Qui-Gon Jinn's, that left a lasting regret in the aging master's mind, he who was the cause for Anakin's harshest pain, was _afraid_!

"The transport is waiting in the bay. You are scheduled to depart in one standard hour."

Anakin bowed along with his fellow Jedi, braid dangling from the drop. He couldn't contain the satisfied smile. 

__

I will have the chance to see my Padme again. She will see how I have grown…so much. 

And Master will finally comprehend how far Kenobi is below me. 

Then the idiot will be gone for good.

This was to be the best assignment of his Jedi career.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan straightened and started toward the door, jilted and somewhat dazed.

He had prayed the Council would have suddenly changed their plans, realized that this was foolish and dangerous. Once that was dashed, he debated lying, revealing he was not ready for such a mission, was better suited for low-grade tasks.

But, ultimately, he couldn't betray himself. He had _earned_ this, no matter the undesirable details, and he _would_ approach it with confidence.

__

Well, at least with tolerance…

He was passing through the doorframe when a short, quiet sentence disrupted him.

"You look well." It was faintly hopeful.

Obi-Wan nearly laughed, if not for his polite tendencies, and the agony coating his throat. _Still perceptive as always, Master Jinn._ He did not reply vocally, and entered the lift, pressing the button.

The door slid shut. He was alone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin was walking to the empty elevator when Qui-Gon faltered, stopping before he could enter.

"Master?"

The lines in Qui-Gon's face appeared deeper. The usual calm of his countenance was abandoned for a furrowed brow. Eyes the rich color of midnight were distant. "Run along and pack. I am going to---take a walk."

The words were vacant, as was his demeanor. Anakin frowned. "Do you want me to accompany you?"

At first the Padawan thought his mentor had not heard, for Qui-Gon was still. Then, he shook his head, and squeezed Anakin's shoulder. "No…No…It won't take long…"

Anakin watched Qui-Gon journey down the corridor, posture slumped.

And an anger welled inside Skywalker, blistering and powerful. The heat prickled his cheeks. 

__

So this is how it will be. As long as Kenobi is involved, he will be forever distracted. 

His trembling fingers curled to a taut fist. _Just wait. Master will see. _

Obi-Wan Kenobi will be nothing.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The building fury was felt instantly. He had never erected an official mental connection with Skywalker, but their sessions was enough to bond them through the Force.

Palpatine was not a fool. He understood the potential of the lad. He was self-centered, intelligent and gifted in the Jedi arts.

It would be _extremely_ easy for him to embark on his own training, using the skills already developed at that blasted Temple. With a bit of honing, he could be a serious threat to the Order.

Anakin Skywalker _could_ be dangerous. Not to mention profitable. For the Sith, of course.

Palpatine had no intention of guiding him down the shadowy path. Skywalker could be as reckless and pig-headed as he liked. For now, Maul was a student of ample ability and strict obedience. 

__

For now.

He lifted the black hood, leaving only the smile in view. A chilling smile, curling withered lips. Darth Sidious heard a knock at the door, and rose, robes brushing the floor. Cold grace flowed through him.

The steel slid away. Maul bowed. 

"The boy?" He asked. 

"Oh yes, he could prove to be useful. The rage…pulses in him."

"And what of the Knight?"

A serious line straightened his mouth, surrounded by fish belly white skin. "He is not as vulnerable. Not like the Master. The Knight is special.

"Which is why he cannot be allowed to continue as a Jedi."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan took brisk steps, totally focused on escaping to the confines of his apartment.

He was light-headed, and far too warm.

"Obi."

He rubbed his temples, sighing. Exhaustion permeated his usual coolness. "Can you ever just leave things alone?"

Mejant clasped his arm and helped him complete the remainder of the journey. "No."

"Well, can you ever just leave _me_ alone? Did you stand here waiting for me the entire time?"

"Yes. What happened at the Council?"

The faint tinge of humor disappeared from his face. "I'm leaving in an hour."

It was not what she wanted to hear. His place should be at the Temple. Where it was safe. But she knew it was necessary for his esteem. So she smiled, sending a happy burst through their bond, and kissed his hand. 

The hand was shaking.

"Obi-Wan, where is the assignment?" Mejant asked, suddenly worried and fighting dread.

"Naboo."

"What?" Her eyes, so darkly brown they bordered black, were wide. Her breath hitched. "Obi, what? How could----I don't----what?"

He chuckled. "My sentiments exactly."

Mejant grasped both his hands then. "The Council is sending you to _Naboo_?!"

"There is a kidnapping ring. Unstoppable, so far. Chancellor Palpatine specifically requested for Jedi familiar with the planet."

"Doesn't that sound---"

"Hazardous? Very. Don't worry, love. I won't be going alone."

"Oh." Her tension lessened slightly. "Who's coming with you?"

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his padawan Anakin Skywalker."

The names were announced in monotone formality. Mejant saw her companion struggle against the inner tumult. "Obi, it will be alright. They---"

"I don't want to hear about them."

His voice gave out. He coughed into his hand.

  
Mejant reached up and flattened her palm to his forehead. Heat met her probing touch. She moved the fingers down, caressing his cheek. "You're ill. You're running a temperature. You should go to Bant. Maybe you need to stay behind."

He rested his weary head on her shoulder, strands of ebony soothing his skin. "And give _him_ the satisfaction? N---" He cleared his throat. "No. I'm going to complete this assignment. Whatever it takes, I will. I'll prove everyone wrong. _He'_ll know."

"Know what?"

Determination shaded his visage. "_He_'ll know that I'm not a helpless, half-trained child."

"Obi-Wan." She was gently admonishing. "Don't do this for the wrong reasons. Not for revenge, or pride. Do it because it is what you were meant to do.

"Do it because you are a Jedi."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon wandered into the area, allowing the sound of gentle trickling to pacify him. Water streamed from ceramic fountains and formed a sort of harmony. It was a beloved tune well-known by any Jedi, from toddling creche' babies to ancient masters with crooked backs and worn canes. 

He headed straight for that certain fountain, the one partially hidden by giant, wilting leaves from a neighboring tropical tree. He sat on the hard surface. Droplets sprayed onto his neck.

It was here, surrounded by nature's music and pure light emanating from oval windows, that Qui-Gon Jinn had experienced the greatest joys of his life.

He had brought Tahl to this secluded spot as a young man, smile wide and dreams all-encompassing. She had kissed his cheek, touching full, ruby lips to his undeserving skin. He had blushed. She had laughed. And kissed him again.

Years later, Qui-Gon lead Obi-Wan here, after a rather harrowing mission. The boy had been drained, steps dragging and eyes drooping. When his master lowered him to the fountain's make-shift bench, he followed gratefully, without argument. There they had stayed, Obi-Wan's head resting against the sturdy shoulder of his mentor, as they both listened to the quiet chirps of white birds perched atop the tree.

Anakin never liked the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He found the near-silence 'annoying'. He preferred busying himself with some mechanical project, where his mind would be occupied, and stray thoughts were prevented.

It disconcerted Qui-Gon that his apprentice would need such total distraction. Why were his thoughts so difficult to push away?

Certainly they would both require a shelving of inappropriate musings. Anakin would be meeting Padme Amidala once more. Already the master sensed ecstatic emotion within the youth. He was glad the boy was finding someone to bond with in his own age group, but she was beyond a mere friend.

Qui-Gon sensed _much_ more.

Yet, he was also prone to preoccupation these days. Too often his focus hazed, his concern shifted.

The past was the past. 

__

Yes. Warmth crept onto his face, drying the moisture there. _I must put it behind me NOW._

Or I never will.

Somewhere, he heard the sound of laughter. Free and lilting, as unselfconscious as a child's. 

Then he realized it was from a yesterday, long passed.

His ears had never been given such a gift since…

Qui-Gon shook his head in an effort to clear it.

__

Now or never.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stood at the foot of his bed, empty travel bag in front of him.

He breathed hard.

This was the grim reality of the situation, this was how you knew for a fact. Just the simple necessity of packing.

But, he had to ponder, if it was such an easy task, why was he frozen in place?

Occasionally, when Obi-Wan had been an apprentice, he experienced pre-mission jitters. His hands would go clammy and his stomach executed a nauseating series of flips and flops. He would, as is the unconquerable custom, attempt to conceal his uneasiness from his master.

Qui-Gon's eyes would linger on him, and then the seasoned Jedi would announce, with great confidence: "You are nervous, my Padawan."

And Obi-Wan would look down, nodding.

Then a comforting pressure was applied to his shoulder. He would glance up at the man, who smiled at him and shook his head.

"The person who cannot feel anxiety is the person who does not exist."

Obi-Wan snorted, partial relief glittering in his gaze. "I don't remember that mantra."

A rough thumb stroked his chin, playing with the gentle cleft. "You wouldn't. A Jinn original, that one."

"Oh." The boy grinned genuinely. "No wonder it sounded so sloppy."

Qui-Gon would ruffle his spiked hair and feign hurt. "Hey, that was my pride and joy…"

Laughter followed, until they were collapsed on the floor, holding their sides.

Obi-Wan sighed, traipsing to his closet, hand out to touch upon the door. 

__

What to bring…

He coughed harshly, bending. His throat was left raw. 

He was, to the bone, miserable.

__

How about a noose?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Bant walked into Obi-Wan's room. He was laying in the bed, hands folded on his stomach. Lifeless strands of hair dangled in his face.

He did not seem to notice.

Black smudges marked the skin under his eyes, and made the unseeing orbs appear to be nestled in deep caverns. 

She stood at his side, linking his limp hand with her warm fingers. "How was it?" She asked tentatively. 

"Distant." He replied in dull detachment. "I…don't know. I couldn't really…feel what was going on. It was the embodiment of every dream I had had as a child---Jedi associated dreams anyway. It was the goal." He shuddered. "And it was like I wasn't there."

Bant nodded, bending down and kissing his forehead.

Obi-Wan's touch strayed to the space behind his ear, where the hair was freshly cut. Short. One length. 

There had been no actual ceremony. Master Yoda and Master Windu were the only others present. The latter escorted Obi-Wan, still condemned to a wheelchair until his leg was a bit stronger, the bone given time to fully regenerate. 

It took place in Yoda's quarters, of all the odd locations. The Council members explained they wanted somewhere private and familiar. Traditionally, the Padawan's Master decided whether it would be an intimate or large celebration. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn had broke numerous customs these few months. 

Yoda had quietly agreed to the youth's renouncement of his mentor, could read the pain and shaky resolve. The wizened creature understood that some things were too severe to forgive.

Not this early, anyway.

So a weak Obi-Wan, wrapped in a quilt to stave off chills, despite the damp and humid conditions of the apartment, had been helped to a bowing position by Windu, pillows cushioning his sensitive leg. 

He had felt a clawed hand stroke his cheek ( the coarse flesh did not scrape like many initiates believed). Neither of the elder Jedi questioned if he had changed his mind, if he was not prepared for this large and permanent step. The ritual words were spoken, the shearing completed in dead silence.

And Obi-Wan was a Jedi Knight.

It didn't matter if he felt like one or not. His official title was enough.

"Obi, you're being released to your new residence tomorrow. All your belongings have been set up there. It's very nice."

He nodded. "Um…What level is on, Bant?"

She bit her lip. "I'm not sure---"

"Don't play dumb…though I know it's your strong point."

She giggled and punched his shoulder. "At least I only play_ it."_

Obi-Wan's smile vanished. "Seriously, what level?"

A heavy sigh. "Level Twelve."

He sat up, face grave. "No. I have to be moved. I can't stay on that floor."

"Obi, don't overreact, it's a big level. You won't even notice---"

"NO. I have to be moved now."

The order was deliberately slow and pronounced. 

Bant frowned, resting her palm on his knee. "Obi, everything is already---"

"No. I want to be on Level Thirty. Or higher. I can't be on the same level as---" He paused, unable to continue. 

Bant saw he was quaking. 

"Okay, Obi. I'll arrange the move."

"I can't." He whispered meekly. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin stopped at the opening. A travel pack was slung over both his shoulders. Qui-Gon had never returned, and they were due to leave for Naboo in fifteen minutes. The Master was prompt to a fault. Being late was a sign of irresponsibility, and frazzled focus, he liked to say, whenever Anakin was dragging.

__

Another case of double standards. He blew out a breath, rippling his lips. _And why does he always have to come HERE? _

It wasn't an ugly room. The walls were cool colored and the abundant water added to the attempted serene feel.

But it wasn't peaceful there. The silence was irksome, grinding at him. 

In the quiet, he could hear things he didn't want to.

He would have yelled for Qui-Gon while waiting outside, but a Master was meditating under a yowlee tree. A Master who had favored him with scowls during every encounter they had. Disapproving. 

Anakin pumped his legs, brushing past the elder Jedi before he could catch another sneer. He found Qui-Gon sitting on the curved edge of a fountain, eyes closed, hands on his knees, a smile subtly touching his mouth. 

He had not seen his Master appear so content in recent memory. "Master." He said, rather gruffly, shaking the thick arm.

Qui-Gon jumped to his feet. "Ani?!" Red burned on his bearded cheeks.

Anakin nearly smiled. Qui-Gon never seemed to address him by anything other than his full first name anymore. "Master, we have to go. The transport---"

"Ah, yes. I---I was gathering my thoughts. I'm ready." He straightened his tunics and accepted the plain brown cloth bag. 

They began the trek to the docking bay. Qui-Gon's head was upturned, eyes glazed and too distant.

"Master? Are you feeling …out of sorts?"

"Why would you think that, Anakin?"

"It's just that…Why do we need a _team_ to investigate for Padme?" He swiftly changed the subject.

"_Senator Amidala_. And the more help she receives, the quicker and more successful the investigation will be, Anakin." 

Anakin gnawed restlessly at his lip. The frustration was overpowering. "Why does _he _have to come and ruin everything?" He blurted.

Qui-Gon stopped. 

The air in the Temple corridor was suddenly cold. "What?"

Anakin did not let his eyes wander to some diverting feature, he stared directly into the Master's face. "I said, why does _he_ have to come? What could he possibly add to Padme's efforts? He'll screw things up---"

Wrath broiled in Qui-Gon, but his demeanor was unaffected. Carefully, he approached his apprentice's errors. "My very young, dreadfully misguided apprentice…Why would you say such a disrespectful thing? Do you deem someone unworthy based on handicaps, which are completely and utterly out of their control? And, Knight Kenobi was blinded while protecting Senator Amidala, if you will remember."

"But---"

He held up a hand, jaw tensed. "I do not accept, nor overlook, this blatant prejudice. If you were to have your leg or hand or arm chopped off in battle, would you want others to look down upon you due to the injury? Would it make you any less of a Jedi…or a person?" He waited for the proper response.

Anakin remained stiffly silent.

"What say you, apprentice?"

"We're going to be late." 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The hanger was noisy, as usual. Ships departing, mechanics working, droids buzzing around. 

Mejant stroked Obi-Wan's arm as they walked, a weak smile on her face to allay the concerned glances given to the blinded Knight, though their worry was mirrored by her own. 

He had not spoken a word since they left his apartment. His eyes were reduced to slits. A thin sheen of sweat glowed on his skin. 

The young woman could feel the heat of fever in him. His hair was dampened and flush lined his cheeks.

"Obi-Wan, are you su---"

"I'm fine. The trip will take a day or so. I'll have time to rest."

She touched his warm forehead. "Promise that you won't overdo it?"

"I promise." He croaked.

Mejant frowned. "You sound terrible."

"Why, thank you my sweet . I can always rely on you for a kind word."

She laughed, leaning forward and kissing his neck. "Don't mention it."

Obi-Wan abruptly pulled away. His expression hardened. He inhaled shakily. "They're here."

Mejant turned around, and saw Qui-Gon and Anakin approaching. The Master looked at her, with those deep, darkly blue eyes. She wheeled back to Obi-Wan, her heart clenched up. "Obi, be strong. Okay?"

He nodded, but there was a grim undertone to the movement. "Okay."

"I love you."

Then Obi-Wan heard footsteps stop near them. 

Mejant bowed, black hair falling around her. "Master Jinn." She said indifferently, and strode away.

Obi-Wan swallowed, ignoring the pain that swelled from the action, and folded his hands. The black before him was never more disconcerting. He wondered how the older man was reacting, if he and Skywalker were exchanging disgusted looks. Wondered if their hate for him was illustrated in their faces. 

"Knight Kenobi."

"Master Jinn…Padawan Skywalker."

Anakin stepped closer to his Master. "Knight Kenobi."

A droid rolled between them. A mechanical voice reverberated from the metal being. "The transport is prepared for departure." It began to head to the ship.

Qui-Gon was about to offer his arm to lead Obi-Wan, but the Knight was following the distinctive sound of the droid.

Jinn spared a moment to marvel at his former apprentice's skill. 

Anakin sighed, crossing his arms and walking up the ramp.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Master Yoda's green paws curled around his gimer stick, standing in the shadows of a corner of the hangar, sleepy gaze focused keenly on the trio entering the transport. He could detect the displeasure in Anakin Skywalker even from this distance. Yes, this mission would certainly test the boy.

Perhaps it would prove what the ancient Council Member had suspected since a small, liberated slave had trailed after Qui-Gon Jinn into the chamber. Yoda had been concerned from the moment Jinn placed his hands on those little shoulders. He could remember the stricken look that had claimed Obi-Wan, the spark of brilliance in his eyes dimming, until they were forever dead.

Young Skywalker was the fabled Chosen One, according to many Masters, though he had not heard the boast from Qui-Gon in some time. Still, the rumor was rampant throughout the Temple, and occasionally the topic of private Council meetings.

But Yoda had glimpsed the world beyond extensive shielding, that which resided in Skywalker's core. 

There was light, for he was not wicked, not as his behavior sometimes suggested. There were high aspirations, admirable and good. Skywalker wanted to be a Jedi Knight. Too soon, maybe, for Yoda's liking. There was much for the apprentice to learn.

If he embarked on his knighthood prematurely, with certain holes unfilled, Skywalker could be… a force against the Order.

Something inside Yoda stirred, and it was painful and cold. It felt very akin to premonition.

A prediction heavy for his aged shoulders to bear.

"There is no turning back for them, then." Mace Windu's voice rumbled richly from behind him.

Yoda's ears twitched. "What expect you, Master Windu? Think, you did, that Knight Kenobi would come running back?" He craned his neck, studying the dark Master from over his shoulder. "Lost faith, all have, for him…Lingering confidence, few have."

Mace moved beside him. "Does he need so much support? Is he that reliant on others' approval?"

"Hummph." The green, wrinkled alien grumbled. "Insecure, he has every right to be. But too long, it has festered in him… Faded, his pride has."

"He is humble---"

"Suffering, he is!" Yoda insisted, voice rising, hitting his cane against the slick floor. "Without true purpose, he is. Meaningless, he feels, life is. Lightly, I cannot take such feelings."

Mace frowned. "What? What is it that you sense?"

"A time of…void…is ahead."

The other Councilor dropped gracefully to his knees. Anxiety was sketched at his brow. "Void?"

"Mmmm." Yoda hummed. "Those once known will be strangers.

"And then everything will be different."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

It rocked beneath his feet, the sounds of the ship warming up clanged in his ears.

He waited, a hand resting lightly on the seatbelt. Then, in a smooth, almost bird-like ascent, the transport burst toward space.

The movement thrumming at his toes reduced to a small vibration, one that would be present as long as the engines were powered, stretching life out to the mechanical innards of the vessel. 

Obi-Wan felt for the belt's release button. Every piece of furniture, from beds to armchairs, were equipped to secure passengers in the event of danger. He clicked it, and stood, touch lingering on the sturdy sofa. 

This was a foreign environment, he acknowledged grimly, and it would require time before he was comfortable. For now, it was black, featureless space. Of course, that was how everything had to be presented at first. Only after careful physical inspection could he familiarize himself, memorize the numerous obstacles that hindered him, and settle among it all.

That wasn't an easy thing, when you considered his present company.

He sensed _him_ near, the boy as well. Both Force signatures were controlled behind seamless walls.

__

Must be a trend. Obi-Wan mused, as he tightened his own mental protection, and blocked any thought, even stray whims, from invasion. _If I could just get to my room…_

"I'm Captain Laernat. Not Jedi, but employed by them. Quite a compliment!"

Obi-Wan listened to the new, grating voice, which served to wear his defenses against the agonizing ache down another notch. The heat was _tingling_ in his head.

"Naboo isn't that far, so we'll be looking at about uh…a day until landing. There are service bots in the kitchen area, and two bedrooms. I trust you can handle things."

"Yes, we'll be fine. Thank you, Captain." Qui-Gon assured. 

Obi-Wan gave a curt nod. 

Footsteps departed, accompanied by idle whistling, and a door swooshed shut.

And choking silence engulfed the room.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Mariss lifted the man's eyelid and was pleased to find a partially active pupil. The white surrounding it was amassed with red veins. His skin was drained to a sickly pallor.

But the patient was alive.

He flatted his palm to the forehead, in a gentle but firm manner of a seasoned physician. "Nurse, where did they say this man was discovered?"

"Outside an office building about a kilometer away. Someone stumbled upon him. He was jabbering about being snatched from his home. People trying to brainwash him. Nonsense like that." She looked up at her tall colleague. "Delirium?"

Mariss nodded, lips pursed, returning to the sweat, unconscious man on the gurney. "Maybe." He mumbled absently. The patient's chest was bared, and hard muscles rippled his body. Mariss leaned a bit closer. On the side of the man's head was a red spot, indenting the skin to form a circle. He fingered it while frowning. "Nurse?"

"Yes?"

A huff passed through his nostrils. "Call the authorities."

She hesitated. "Is it something… serious?"

"I don't know. But---" He scratched his chin. "It could be."

She turned and, with brisk steps, left to fulfill his request.

"Mmmmph…ugh…n---no…"

Mariss was instantly at the man's side, checking his pulse as he spoke. "Sir? Sir? Wake up." He commanded in urgency. 

"Hmmhmmph…" The feverish patient stirred, and his face was twisted into a grimace. "Am I caught?" 

"No. You're at Theed General. Naboo?"

Glassy eyes widened. The man lifted himself to his elbows, breathing erratically. Scraggly, blonde hair dangled in his eyes. "I---I'm in a hospital?" The words were slurred and barely coherent, as if he were trying to speak with his tongue between his teeth. "

"Yes. You were taken here by a kindly person. You are very sick---"

"No! No! I just escaped! Sick because of them!"

His tone was wearily persistent, and sharp pain plunged through Mariss' chest. He dealt with raving maniacs now and then. The hospital didn't have a filter to keep out the crazies and criminals. He had learned quite long ago to treat everyone with the same mild compassion. "Them? Who?"

The man swallowed. "Oh----they…From under the streets! With the metal clampings that…oh…"

Mariss squeezed his shoulder. "Don't tire yourself. Just tell me your name sir, and everything will be alright from here on out."

"'Kay…I can tell that…They wanted to take that…but I got away…Rhell Vininon." Then he went boneless, collapsing onto the pillows, unconscious. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Maul wrapped another layer of black cloth around his wrists, but the blood seeped through seconds later. It would be difficult for anyone else to differentiate between the life-giving, warm liquid, and the same colored tattoos that covered his smooth skin. 

They were a normal part of his existence, as any other would consider theirs. 

He couldn't remember that day. When the designs were burned into his young, woefully tender flesh. Sometimes, however, he would catch the scent of smoke, and his body would heat.

No, he wouldn't remember something like that. It had happened when he was no more than a mere tot, scooped up into coarse, dark arms, and taken to have his devotion to his Order pressed permanently upon him. 

Was there a choice in the matter?

__

Yes. He contemplated, droplets of the blood splattering on the ground. He watched them splash against the unyielding surface. Mesmerized. _I was chosen. The Dark chose me. To defeat what has sought to destroy us since the beginning. _

I am one of two.

I am chosen.

He could recall vividly other events, later memories. 

At seven, during practice on a sand-roughened world, he had flinched at the approach of a huge, famously poisonous insect.

His Master knew, had seen every shameful moment of his childish, _weak_ reaction. 

His Master saw _everything._ Hooded eyes that followed him, ready to pounce if he were to falter.

__

I will be perfect. The Dark will course through me without hindrances. It will complete me.

After their training session was complete, his Master dragged him violently by the tunic back to their rickety cabin. He was thrown into a pitch black room, landing painfully on his hands. 

The door had closed. Several locks were applied.

And then, a swarm of the buzzing creatures, swelled with potent venom, attacked him.

He was not released from that prison until the next morning. His voice was raw from tortured screaming. He could not speak for days.

But he had never cried out again.

Today, Maul miscalculated during an intense spar match, and scraped his arms on the rocky terrain. It was several hours before he was allowed to tend to the stinging wounds. Yet, he did not feel the unpleasant sensation.

Hate was a balm, running over his faults and uncertainty until he couldn't sense them anymore. Each wound was a lesson. Each lesson was a step closer. 

Closer and closer, they advanced.

More blood was pooling.

He imagined it was Obi-Wan Kenobi's. 

Jealousy flared in him, quickly stifled by a surge of rancor. 

__

My Master is wise. He despises the Jedi to his bones. He would not---

He refused to have the thought come to conclusion. It was a foolish thing, envy.

__

The Jedi will all die. Felled like twisted old trees.

Kenobi first. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, for approximately the one hundredth time during this trying day. He wanted to brush past them both and curl up under the sheets of a warm bed, wake up to realize this was just a horrible nightmare.

He had asked for such many times before, when the pressure of his disability was too great. 

It never happened.

He reached out with tentative caution, assessing the other Jedi in the Force. 

Still shielded.

Finally, he wearily sighed, and his voice swallowed up the buzzing silence. "The threat on Naboo is disturbing."

He waited for the open-ended comment to generate response. As he predicted, it was Jinn who answered. Skywalker was most likely standing with his arms crossed, a figurative dark cloud over his head, shooting daggers at Obi-Wan with his eyes. In his tired, sick state, Obi-Wan could not have cared less.

"Yes. Quite." The Master paused. "In the mission outline, it was mentioned that Senator Amidala has used a mole to infiltrate the kidnapping ring. A woman who was once romantically linked with the leader. Do you think that a wise decision?"

"Wise, perhaps. Not at all safe for the woman, however. If her cover was blown, it is unlikely she would escape the place with her life. One of our priorities in this should be lowering her need to assist. "

Qui-Gon smiled slightly, something brightening in his eyes. 

Anakin glared at the Knight. He was failing terribly at concealing his hatred, but that was moot, since his Master could never sense the dark emotions through his thick mental walls.

"But, Master, if both Padme and the woman believe her work as a mole is helpful, which it must be if Padme has enlisted her help, then we could be sacrificing the success of the mission."

Qui-Gon looked at him, and the brilliance was faded in midnight blue orbs. "Good counterpoint, Anakin."

"I never said we should terminate her service to the investigation completely. But, Force forbid, if the woman was killed by the ringleader, we will have lost a vital source of information. By lessening her risks, we are also lessening our own." Obi-Wan observed calmly. The soreness in his throat was becoming audible. 

__

Just shut up! Anakin frowned. Powerful indignation rose in his chest. "What would _you _know about something like this, anyway? It's not like you----"

"Anakin." Qui-Gon thundered. "Ultimately, the use of the mole will be decided by herself. We cannot provide the decision for her."

Anakin tore his focus from Kenobi. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon nodded his approval at his apprentice's acquiesce. "Now, we have much more to discuss before we land on planet. We best not waste time."

Three hours passed, and every relevant topic had been addressed. All three could have rivaled the kidnappers in their knowledge of the underground system. 

Obi-Wan stood from the armchair he had sat in. His muscles ached, and he could barely talk. Exhaustion loomed in his awareness.

He made his way to the kitchen, trying his best not to feel objects for security. A bot picked up on his presence, and beeped. 

"What- would-you- like?" 

"Triali leaf tea."

"Just-a-moment."

Obi-Wan lifted a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. 

"How ill are you?"

The Knight turned. He cursed his slowed Force reflexes. "What? What are you talking about?"

His denial was flimsy, and Qui-Gon effortlessly passed it. "Triali leaf tea? You've always despised the stuff…Except when you were sick. Then you drank it like a dehydrated man would water."

Obi-Wan did not react facially. He folded his hands in his cloak sleeves. "You---" He coughed. "Have an excellent memory, Master Jinn."

A smooth ceramic mug was placed in his hand. But instead of cold metal droid fingers, he felt familiar, callused skin against his for a brief moment.

Obi-Wan took a step back.

"You could have told me. That you were ill…I would have dismissed you."

"You, Master Jinn, have not had the ability to dismiss me in quite a long time. I am a Jedi _Knight. _Not a sniffling initiate." He walked from the room.

To his dismay, Qui-Gon followed him.

"Is that what you have planned for this assignment? Avoid conversation by spouting off some self-righteous garbage and storming away? Obi-Wan, I thought I had taught you better than that." 

Obi-Wan stopped. His head was pounding. He didn't have the time, or the patience, for this fruitless argument. "This may be surprising to you, Master Jinn, but your teachings were lacking in more areas than you may think. Now please, leave me alone."

He had readied himself for further debate, but he heard Qui-Gon depart.

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, something very tiny and buried in Obi-Wan was disappointed.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin was walking to the quarters he had to share with his Master. 

__

More like sneaking. The graying Jedi observed, eyebrow cocked. "Anakin." 

The young man halted, his shoulders slumping. He turned around to face Qui-Gon. "Yes, Master?"

"Well, I'm certainly glad to see you've held onto a shred of Jedi protocol."

Gooseflesh prickled on Anakin's skin. "What?"

"At least you can call me Master. After your embarrassing behavior in the main room, I was wondering how far you wanted to slip in your dignity."

Hurt flashed in murky eyes, but was soon replaced by coolness. "I don't know what you mean, Master."

Qui-Gon's fingers were beginning to curl. He placed his hands on his hips. "Really? You mean to tell me that in the span of a few hours you have totally forgotten what you said, or what you were attempting to say, to Knight Kenobi?"

__

Give me a break. "I wasn't aware I had said anything that would harm my dignity."

Trembling lips were pressed together. "Then you believe what you spoke to him was perfectly acceptable?"

"It's the truth, Master. When everything else, like old sympathy and pity, is stripped away, that's what it is. I don't care if no one other than me in the whole universe is willing to admit it, that's what it is." Darkness descended upon the face. "That's what _he_ is."

"And what is that, apprentice?"

Anakin inhaled a sharp breath. "Useless." He spat. "He's like this comatose family member everyone refuses to put of his misery, just because they're thinking of how he used to be. For Force's sake, Master, pull the freaking cord, before he wrecks this whole mission."

Qui-Gon had listened quietly to the words. Let them sink into his consciousness. At first, he would not believe such things had come from the mouth of a Jedi Padawan, the Chosen One, and his closest companion for ten years. The boy he had taken under his care, had poured knowledge and compassion into, had come to _love_. This was Anakin Skywalker? Apprenticed to Qui-Gon Jinn? 

Who were they anymore?

He grasped Anakin's upper arm. "Come here." He growled, and pulled the youth down the hall.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped into his room. The congestion was building in him. His breathing was clogged, and every gulp of air was a struggle. The heat swarmed. His eyes, eyes that would never provide him _anything_ again, were watering and stingy. 

A tortured groan escaped him. He took a sip of the tea. Steaming, herbal liquid slid down his throat, but could not numb the pain there. 

"Hello.-I-am-Siron-7. A-bot-specializing-in-care-for-the-visibly-impaired. I-have-been-instructed-to-aid-Obi-Wan-Kenobi-a-guest-of-Senator-Amidala."

Obi-Wan wiped his nose. "That won't be necessary."

"Yes-it-is. Senator-Amidala-sent-me-from-the-planet-Naboo-with-important-instructions-to-aid-Obi-Wan-Kenobi. She-insists."

"Fine. Then can you tell me where the bed is?"

"Certainly-Obi-Wan-Kenobi. The-bed-unit-is-twelve-point-five-inches-from-your-current-location."

"Thank you." He mumbled, and bent slightly, hands searching for the soft mattress.

He felt it. Gratefully, he sank down. He coughed violently into his fist, then kicked off his boots and removed his belt. He sat them neatly together. When his tunic and sash were peeled from his sweaty body, they too were placed on the stack. 

He rested, too tired and spent from his short ordeal to crawl beneath the covers yet.

Slowly, his head fell into his hands. A strong wave of nausea hit him. He swallowed thickly. 

And wondered why his mind was spinning, while his body was suddenly so light.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"Sit down." Qui-Gon released Anakin's arm, almost shoving him toward a chair.

Anakin, for all his fiery cockiness and stubborn nature, obeyed without a word. His head was bowed, and a long Padawan braid brushed against his chest.

Qui-Gon began pacing, massive hands bracing his temples.

Frustration and anger tightened the atmosphere.

Anakin chewed at his lip. He had _never_ seen his Master this upset.

"I…need to tell you something. Something that has been hidden in my heart. Pain I thought would never have to be unearthed." He looked at his protégé, and pale tinges of resentment laced his furrowed brow. "But just a moment ago, you proved the need." He settled on the sleepcouch edge. "You must _listen_ to this, Anakin. You cannot tune me out this time. Do you understand?"

Anakin nodded sullenly.

"Good.

"When I was a very young initiate, I met a fellow initiate, a girl. We grew to be the best of friends, and a deep, wonderful connection bonded us together. For many years, our relationship was dear and strong. I came to…love her…" He cast his eyes to the ground. "But I did not fully realize my affections until after Obi-Wan was my apprentice. I told her how I felt and, " He smiled softly. "She felt as I did. We pledged ourselves as soul mates. And, for a short while, that intelligent, radiant woman, who helped foil an attempt to destroy the entire Temple, belonged to me. She was never intimidated by my temper, or meek when I was wrong. She was everything I needed her to be. What I lived for. Who I wanted beside me as I raised my apprentice. She was remarkable."

"_Was_?"

Qui-Gon dug his chin into his fist, clenching his eyes shut. "She was killed…_ruthlessly_…during a mission. I was beside her as the last breath slipped from her lovely lips, and her delicate hands went cold. Tahl was gone. That warm, loving light was gone.

"And for quite awhile, I was drowning in my grief. The Temple's loss was enormous. Devastation wracked every Jedi. Those who had known her, those who had loved her." His voice wobbled. "My wife is---dead."

Anakin watched a single tear course down his Master's rough cheek. Renewed agony was twisting the man's spirit. "Master…"

Qui-Gon gathered a breath. "What I didn't mention, Anakin, was that Tahl was blinded. For several of her last years, she was sightless."

The boy blinked. "She…was…?"

"Yes, she was. And I loved her. The force rained its power into her. She will never dim in the Temple's memory.

"She was resilient. Her handicap never slowed her down. And when you…when you speak words that express your feelings of Knight Kenobi's inferiority, based on his blindness, I cannot help but despair." He stood before Anakin, and gripped his shoulder. "It hurts me. Badly."

For maybe the first time in his life, Anakin was truly struck silent by shame.

An awkward, quelled mood stretched between them, as Qui-Gon recovered from the emotional draining, and the Padawan wallowed in his chagrin and scathing guilt for depressing the older man.

Anakin looked down at his folded hands, rubbing his fingers together restlessly. "Master, I'm so---"

"Excuse-me-sirs."

They both turned to see a tall droid, with two oval body segments and circular yellow eyes that blinked in rapidity. 

"I-am-Siron-7. I-have-been-sent-by-Senator-Amidala--"

Anakin instantly perked.

"To-assist-Obi-Wan-Kenobi-who-is-visually-impaired-and-friend-to-Senator-Amidala."

Thank you for informing me." Qui-Gon replied in very near deadpan, still fragile from his dark reminiscing. 

"Obi-Wan-Kenobi's-body-temperature-is-currently-one-hundred-and-five-degrees-farenheit. This-figure-is-six-and-one-half-degrees-above-average-human-body-temperature."

Qui-Gon's eyes widened. "_Force._" He rushed out of the room, leaving a light stirring of air in his wake. 

The droid continued undeterred. "I-have-been-programmed-by-the-makers-to-alert-individuals-in-closest-proximity-if-Obi-Wan-Kenobi's-health-is-negatively-altered."

Anakin rolled his eyes, switched off the annoying bot, and trudged dutifully after his Master.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stopped at Obi-Wan's door, and pounded on the metal surface. "Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!" No answer. His stomach lurched. "OBI-WAN!!!"

He punched in the Master override code, which was used in emergency situations to unlock any area on the ship. The door began opening, his heart fluttering in horrible anticipation.

After a painful eternity, the room was revealed to him.

And the Knight was strewn across the bed, clad in a pair of leggings. He knew at once that Obi-Wan was unconscious.

Qui-Gon went to his side. He leaned over the ill man, and saw dark red was splotching his cheeks. The Master pressed a shaky palm to the blazing forehead. 

"Oh Force, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon slid his arms under his former apprentice, lifting him gingerly into his arms. 

Anakin walked in, appearing very nonchalant, considering the worry charging the air. "What's wrong with him?" _Besides the usual._

Qui-Gon sat on the sleepcouch and cradled the limp, impossibly hot form against him. "He's running a high fever. Unresponsive…" His eyes remained sewn to Obi-Wan's sweaty face. "Anakin, go to the Captain. Ask for any medicine there is onboard. Antibiotics, cold syrup…anything that can help." He glanced at his unaffected protégé. "_Hurry._"

"Yes, Master." He jogged out, haste due only to his desire _not_ to be reprimanded again. _Once more, Kenobi has managed to captivate my Master's complete attention._

Qui-Gon brushed a damp, ginger strand back. The illness was racing through Obi-Wan's system, and fast depleting the Knight's strength. He could feel the harsh labor it took for a breath to be received. He touched Obi-Wan's cheek tenderly. "Obi-Wan, wake up. Wake up so I know you're alright."

In response, a weak cough ripped from the throat. 

"Come on. Wake up now. Obi…"

Obi-Wan moaned. Moisture streamed from his closed eyes. 

"I know it hurts, Pa----Obi-Wan. But I can help." He stroked the soft hair, as he had done for so many years, now bygone to his withered spirit. It was as it used to be. A little smile flashed across his face, gone before he ever realized it existed. Caring for him, healing him…

"All he has is this generic stuff." Anakin swished a plastic bottle of red liquid in front of him, then tossed it on the bed. 

Qui-Gon grabbed the medicine. He poured a bit into the cap. "Can you get some cool cloths, please?"

Anakin nodded. "Yes, Master." _I always wanted to be a servant. A step up from being a slave._

Qui-Gon tilted Obi-Wan's head back, supported by his forearm. Carefully, he put the cap to cracked lips. "You need to drink this." He tricked it into the younger Jedi's mouth.

Obi-Wan swallowed. He sputtered a little in surprise, but gulped the last down. He laid against the stalwart chest, exhausted. 

Then, he frowned, trailing his fingers up to Qui-Gon's face.

Qui-Gon let him feel the beard, the signature indent in his nose. It was Obi-Wan's way of opening his eyes, and he understood. "It's me, Obi-Wan."

The ailing man groaned, his hand dropping. Qui-Gon wiped a drop of the ruby medicine from his chin. He rubbed Obi-Wan's back, sensing, now that the shields were unknowingly diminished around his mind, the aches there. "Rest. I'll be here." _Rest my Obi-Wan._

The Knight curled his fingers around the Master's, and a strange sort of happiness welled in Qui-Gon. Like a missing piece of his heart had been restored.

He didn't notice when his current apprentice returned with the cloths. He accepted them without seeing, without thanking him, and settled the soothingly wet material on Obi-Wan's forehead.

Anakin felt as if he had disappeared.

It was only them.

Qui-Gon only saw _him_.

The nineteen year old sighed, sinking into an armchair. _I am the Chosen One. I am better. I am the Chosen One…_

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Anakin chased after the mechanical ball, a wizard little contraption he stuck together this morning, using scraps and parts from his growing collection. The metal toy's jumps were a little slow, but it still made for a fun time.

He leaped at it, and the ball rolled into the hallway. Anakin giggled as he sprinted to catch it. He touched his invention just as it bounced further down the sleek Temple corridor. 

"Oh no you don't!" The boy laughed.

Suddenly, the ball was stopped mid-air, a mahogany hand restraining it through the Force. 

Anakin sobered, grin vanished, and bowed. "M---Master Window."

Mace chuckled. "That's Master Windu_. And what are you busying yourself with today, Padawan Skywalker?"_

Anakin looked down at his feet. "Nothing. I just---lost my ball." He flinched, waiting for disapproval. He should probably be meditating, or training, or reading or…

"Well, it's probably a lost cause today. A Jedi is being moved from this level right now. Things are pretty much in disarray."

The child was left complacent from the warm expression given him. The tall, intimidating man wasn't even mad! "Oh. Well that's okay. I need to practice for my first kata session anyway." His eyes were lit with excitement. "Master says I'm already ready already!!!"

"That's a mouthful, young one. You better be on your way, then."

Anakin heaved a sigh. "Thanks. See you later!" He scampered back inside the apartment.

Mace's mouth straightened. He shook his head, clasping his hands together under his billowing cloak sleeves, and walked.

Anakin frowned. Whenever Qui-Gon was in the apartment, the rooms always felt different. Inviting and soft. Now it was colder, like the rest of the Temple. He saw the message recorder blinking. He half-skipped to answer it, still buoyed by his conversation with the Council member. Everyone would be so impressed when they found out he was doing katas this early into his apprenticeship! He pushed the button with an oil-stained finger. 

"Padawan, I'm going to be out for awhile. There's some cheese in the fridge unit if you get hungry. Look over your lessons. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Anakin erased the message, disappointed. He didn't like being alone. 

But, from the brighter side of things, there was time for him to explore.

He wandered into his Master' s room. 

Qui-Gon Jinn was a very private man, and his possessions were few and rarely on open display. 

There was a small painting hanging over his bed. A scene of some ocean, birds fluttering in the sky. It was pretty, but too girly. In the corner was a black 'T'. 

A few holocubes sat on the bureau. Pictures of people Anakin didn't know. 

Boring.

He looked around, standing with his hands on his hips. He saw the closet.

Anakin curled a lip. He ran over to it, and palmed it open.

Tunics, all sandy or white, lined the space. Below were a few brown boxes.

The boy sat cross-legged on the ground and opened the first time. "Ooooh. What's in here?" He pushed the lid off.

Another tunic lay folded on the top.

He grunted. "Stupid clothes." When he lifted it to set is aside, the tunic spread out, and he saw it was way_ too small for his giant of a Master. It looked small enough to fit Anakin. His forehead creased. "Weird."_

The next item was a book. Written by hand was 'Memories'. He turned it to the first page, and a large holo of Master with his last apprentice was there. Anakin rolled his eyes, and, with maybe just a hint of irritation, threw it beside the tunic.

"Huh?" He picked up the final object. It was a stuffed animal with dark brown fur and round ears. A white paper tag was attached. He read it: "The Carnival wasn't any fun without you. Get better soon. Love, Obi-Wan."

Anakin frowned. Why did Qui-Gon still have this stuff? Wasn't Kenobi bad? Didn't he hurt his Master? Padawans weren't supposed to do things like that. 

His golden hair gleamed in the dim lighting. He grabbed the animal and went into the kitchen, teeth clenched hard.

He shrugged into his cloak, and concealed the thing under his arm. I'll get rid of it for Master.

__

The youth headed down the hall again.

This time he was not interrupted, and walked past the room being emptied of that Jedi's possessions.

Anakin glanced at it.

He froze.

Knight Kenobi wasn't there. But all his things were. He remembered that armchair from the few days it had been in their apartment, before Kenobi moved. 

A half-filled box was sitting near the door. 

Anakin's eyes darted. No one was paying any attention.

He shoved the animal into the box, and slammed the top down.

There._ He smiled in satisfaction. _

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan's features twist in agony. The medicine had done nothing. The Master had been hopeful, so when an hour had passed, and there was no change whatsoever in the Knight's condition, he reasoned that it might require a bit longer for it to take effect, do to the extremity of this sickness.

But now, listening to the hoarse, confused whimpers, he knew a different, almost certainly unwanted action, would have to be taken.

He sighed and looked up at his Padawan, who was dozing in an armchair. "Anakin."

The boy opened his eyes slightly. "Wha?"

Annoyance bolted through him. "I expect you to be alert, my apprentice." His voice was cold steel. 

Anakin sat up straight, cheeks red.

"I have to place him in a healing trance. I don't think he can aid me much, if it all, so I'll need to delve far into his mind. If I delay any longer, he could be in very serious trouble. It will be awhile before I come out of it, so inform the captain."

Anakin masked his disappointment and anger with an expressionless nod. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon studied him for the briefest of moments, something contemplative in his eyes, then turned back to Obi-Wan.

The younger Jedi was still in his arms, pressed against his chest. Ginger eyelashes were colorless, brushing pale skin. Chills had claimed the ill form, and Qui-Gon pulled the cloak he wore around the almost bare body. Obi-Wan's hot hand clung to the neckline of Qui-Gon's tunic. 

Qui-Gon was under no illusions. Obi-Wan was not lucid, and didn't know what he was doing. He was only seeking, on an unconscious level , the comfort of a touch. The graying Jedi wasn't upset, he gladly offered the support this gravely sick Knight needed.

He propped his back against the headboard and secured the sweating bundle in his hold. 

Qui-Gon shut his eyes. He gathered an even breath, and sunk into the Force.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme and Ileana stood outside the room. Ileana's arms were crossed tightly over her chest. The Senator noticed a trembling to the woman that concerned her. She placed a hand on Ileana's forearm. 

"Will you be alright?" She asked softly. Compassion was pooled in her chestnut eyes. 

Ileana pulled a lock of fiery hair behind her ear. She nodded, sniffing. "Yes." She whispered.

Padme wasn't convinced. "You don't have to come in, Ileana. I can interview him myself. I know this must upset you."

Ileana's eyes met the younger female's, and they left no room for argument. "No, Milady, I can handle this. If I am to be of help, you must not try to protect me." Her voice lowered, and that strong gaze was misted. "I know what my former love has become. I'm no longer living in the past. I know he must be stopped."

Padme studied this woman, who was as courageous as any saber-wielding Jedi. She smiled. "You are brave, Ileana. On behalf of Naboo, I thank you."

Ileana breathed out, a smile chasing after her sigh. "Thank you, Senator."

Doctor Mariss approached them. His face was grave. This patient was heartbreaking, and, unlike most other cases, he couldn't feel optimism. This man's slippery hold on sanity would not withstand the questioning. But if it prevented others from suffering his fate, Mariss would give his permission. Though it still wore heavily on his heart. "Senator Amidala, Miss Zimn."

"Good afternoon, Doctor Mariss." Padme replied, placing the political mask over an otherwise apprehensive face. 

Ileana flashed a quick, forced smile.

"Mr. Vininon has had zero progress since his arrival here. He continues to speak of his capture, and his kidnappers. He suffers violent bouts during the night. It was necessary to station a nurse to remain at his bedside. Tranquilizers are administered every few hours. He has a viral infection in his lungs. Once that clears up, he may be admitted into a mental ward."

Ileana turned away then, her head falling into her hands. Her shoulders shook.

Padme's forehead creased. She wanted to comfort the woman, but there was still work to be done. "I would like to see him now if it is possible, Doctor."

Mariss glanced at Ileana before nodding. "Of course, Senator."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Sidious strolled along the railing, Maul beside him.

Their black cloaks swished, touching the stone floor. Hoods concealed their faces, and cast shadows across their skin. It was cold tonight.

"Are we going to Naboo, Master?" Maul asked in a huskily quiet tone.

Sidious smiled. "The boy needs time to develop his feelings for the Senator. And he will, that I have foreseen. She is a temptation too great for him to ignore. He is not strong enough." Contempt laced his words. "Once he is past infatuation, and _loves_ her, he will leave the Jedi. Then, of course, there is the Knight."

Maul looked at the Coruscant scenery, attempting to disregard the admiration and longing he sensed in his Master. He was more than a sufficient apprentice. Kenobi was to be turned only to weaken the Jedi Order. Not because Maul was inferior. 

"He would never willingly leave the Order. He is stubborn and impossibly loyal. That can be used to our advantage…in time."

Maul lowered his head so his Master would not see the burning hate in his bloody saffron eyes.

Sidious did.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The mind was not a tangible thing. One could not 'see' its functions, there weren't mechanical parts working to produce thought. The mind was an intricate web. Every wispy thread was connected. Each emotion embedded in the metaphorical fibers. It was the core of being. When everything else was ripped away, and one was left a bare urchin, the mind remained.

And the corridors of the mind, avenues one traveled in private journey, were rarely changed. For opinions could be malleable, but the true nature of a person was never re-sculpted.

So when Qui-Gon Jinn entered Obi-Wan Kenobi's mind, he was overall familiar with it. He could maneuver easily though the space, for his former apprentice was brimming with a pure and glowing white light. 

The dusk of illness had set in, smudging otherwise clear pathways. 

Obi-Wan was submerged in that murkiness. Qui-Gon could feel his Force presence beneath. It was not as simple as grasping onto that spirit and lifting it from the affliction.

First he had to release a steady stream of his own energy to the weakened spirit. Then wait for the strength to be absorbed.

This was far more difficult to accomplish when the receiver was far beyond the shores of consciousness. 

Qui-Gon tenaciously sent powerful, albeit gentle, waves, to Obi-Wan.

And the Knight was partially stirred by what was wrapped so urgently around his mind.

Bits of his intimate thoughts were scattered, only sloppy shields could be erected by such a groggy, disoriented individual.

The Master was taken aback.

He witnessed the shards fall into his view. Pieces of yesterdays he had sworn to forget.

Had figured Obi-Wan had forgot.

Red and black tattooed face. Lightsabers buzzing in his ear. The smell of smoldering flesh.

It lasted a moment, then fell away, as another emotion was strewn across his periphery.

Darkness. A smothering black that consumed him, that was a twisted shred from Obi-Wan's soul.

Hoarse whispers all around: _worthless, pain, end, want end…_

Qui-Gon was engulfed by the maelstrom, could not be released from the tumult.

Then, as sudden as it began, it was stopped. 

By Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, still muzzy and muddled, amidst his agony and weariness, pushed him roughly out of his thoughts.

Qui-Gon was thrown into awareness again, the ragged cries of a soul violated echoing in his mind.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin was snoring, his cheek balanced on a fist, when his Master gasped.

It was a shrill, haunting sound, that surely could not have been emitted from the man. Anakin was on his feet, rushing over to Qui-Gon. "Master?!"

Qui-Gon breathed in, his eyes fluttering open.

And there was a desolation in his somewhat confused gaze. "Anakin?"

The boy nodded, his hand going to the bearded face in a rare show of concerned affection. "Master, what happened? What did he do?"

Qui-Gon swallowed and shook his head. "No, it was nothing he did. I..I went too far. I felt….too much. And he shoved me out."

Obi-Wan moaned. New tears pressed at him. It was like being exposed in horrible completion, with nothing left to secret. And his head was throbbing. He did not need to reach for the face of who held him, who continued to cradle his sweaty, heated form. He knew who had invaded him.

He grappled for the energy to sit up. Moisture began to course down his cheeks, dripping from his round jaw line and forming a sheen on his neck. The fever was spiking. 

"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to---" Qui-Gon said desperately. "Just lay back down---"

"N--No." Obi-Wan rasped, and went on struggling to liberate himself.

As much as it hurt him, Qui-Gon could not allow it. He restrained the Knight with mild effort, securing his hands around Obi-Wan's wrists and pulling him back.

"No!" The lightheaded man resisted. His mind, freshly wounded by the deepest intrusion he had ever experienced, screamed. 

"Anakin, hold him down."

Obi-Wan hit the mattress. Hands pinned his shoulders with bruising, mostly unnecessary, force. He was dizzy, and the black surrounding him offered no comfort. He grunted, kicking with every ounce of his might.

A palm was pressed on his forehead.

When the sleep suggestion came, he fought. 

And lost. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon sponged off the hot face, wiping away the stain of aging tears. Obi-Wan was settled among thick, soft pillows. A thin sheet was tucked around his chest. The material clung to his perspiring body.

His silken hair was so damp it fit to his head like a cap. Qui-Gon moved to stroke it back into the trademark spikes, but froze midway. 

__

Worthless, pain, end, want end…

The Master's heart was impaled by the words that had spilled from his ex-Padawan's essence. Words that affirmed what Qui-Gon suspected from the moment he had walked into the Council Chamber. He had seen the defeated slope of shoulders, the slightly quaking lips…eyes that were tragic and still brilliantly cerulean, holding a depressive fog in the once clear, certain orbs.

He had stood there, entranced by this ashen stranger who resembled the friend he once knew.

He knew Obi-Wan Kenobi no longer, for a Jedi did not consider ending his own life, or wallow in self-pity. 

Qui-Gon uttered a tiny cry. His head fell to the pillow beside Obi-Wan's. Bitter dampness spread from tears he allowed to fall without intervention. This _was_ his Obi-Wan! 

He turned red-threaded eyes to the sleeping man. He saw the same gold-tinted skin and youthful features. The meager light caressed his face, as it always did. Even in the dankest of dungeons, with darkness all-encompassing, the light found him, and embraced him in almost liquid illumination.

This _was_ the Knight he used to spy napping on the couch, with his arms and legs stretched out, and would wake by tickling his stomach, whose eyes would snap open, dancing in delight…

Until Qui-Gon had chased the notions of a fickle Force, and deserted that innocent, loving spirit…

The man straightened. He inhaled, closing his eyes. _It is my fault. _He felt for Obi-Wan's hand, capturing it between his fingers. _And I will make it right._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~


	4. The Lonely People

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Four: The Lonely People

All the lonely people

Where do they all come from?

All the lonely people

Where do they all belong?

-The Beatles

Anakin sunk to the ground, back against the wall. He rested his elbows on his knees. 

The room was dark. The pair of beds were neatly made. One of them would not be rustled tonight.

Qui-Gon would go on in his foolish delirium, treating Kenobi like a sick infant, while his _capable _apprentice was ignored. He would coddle him and cling to a distant, _dead_ bond.

A brief flutter of pain passed through Anakin's chest. For a major portion of his time at the Jedi Temple, Qui-Gon cared deeply for him, and it showed. He devoted every waking moment to Anakin, showering affection and approval upon him. Anakin had soaked up the warmth, settled into the normalcy of his new life, a life ripe with love and potential. 

Qui-Gon still loved him, Anakin knew, despite the growing evidence of waning fondness. There were soft smiles and pats on the shoulder.

But there were also uncertain, secret looks, that Anakin wasn't meant to see. Nights when the air was thick with liquor, and the Padawan was marooned in his room to wait out another of Qui-Gon's episodes.

It was Kenobi's fault. Completely and utterly. Tonight was just further proof.

Anakin's fingers curled into fists, he studied them, could feel the power radiating below the surface. The power was increasing as each day wore on. It pulsed through him, a hot, moving energy. Sometimes he felt as if he were going to explode.

Especially when Obi-Wan Kenobi was near.

Skywalker had spent many hours considering the problem of the Knight, why his Master couldn't just let go. Maybe it was the fact that Yoda cut the braid, instead of Qui-Gon. That was an occasion meant to seal the apprenticeship. It was closure.

__

Of course!!! It all makes sense! Master Qui-Gon couldn't totally move on because he had not been the one to shear the plaited and beaded strands that signified a Padawan. So, in his mind, perhaps he continued to think of Kenobi as a Padawan.

There wasn't a clear cut solution to that, unfortunately. The braid was gone now.

Anakin blew out a breath, trudging to his bed, and collapsing on the mattress.

He dreamt of Padme.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme swallowed, a hand going to her throat as she walked into the tiny room. Her auburn hair hung straight and without any of her usual stylish flair. She wore a simple black lace dress with billowing sheer sleeves. Her shoes were flat, and made quiet, padding sounds against the tile floor.

The Senator stood by the door, lingering there. She looked at the man, Rhell Vininon, on the bed.

From the weak artificial light provided by strips mounted to the ceiling, his skin looked waxy. His eyes were blue, but the color was washed out, leaving them a pale gray. His lips were cracked.

Padme noticed the chiseled jaw line and dark brow. 

He had once been a strong and handsome man.

She took a step.

His arms and legs were muscular, yet they too were pallid. Various cords were attached to the man. His breathing sounded horribly congested. Every few moments, he would thrash and moan, then settle again. 

Padme licked her lips. "Mr. Vininon?"

Rhell's nose twitched. He groaned.

The young woman debated a retreat. He was resting, and surely an interruption to be questioned wouldn't be helpful to this poor, ailing man. She began to back away.

"I know you."

A tiny rasping voice stopped her. A flicker of frightened hope was captured in her dark eyes. "Mr. Vininon?"

The man coughed, his lungs wracked with violent hacks. "Yes…You…I heard your name…and saw…picture. Yes!" His eyes widened and he smiled. "Yes! You were there…"

Her eyebrow curled. 

"Noo…No. Not _there._ Your picture…that's what was…was there."

His eyes were watery, but seemed steady to the Senator. She walked to his side, a kind expression on her face, framed by the yellow light. "Where, Mr. Vininon?"

He looked up at her. Sweat rolled down his forehead. "The shadow place. Where the clamping, the metal clamping machine, was."

Padme nodded, pulling up a chair. 

"They wanted to put it on my head…right here." He pressed his fingers to his temples, then flinched. "Yess… They wanted to…They showed me your picture…"

Her stomach tensed. She clasped her hands together. "Yes?"

He pointed to her. "They wanted me to…And then they wanted to clamp my head…I got away…"

She laid her hand on his arm. "How did you get away, Mr. Vininon?"

He shook his head. "I got away. I heard them before. I heard them, I heard _him_, say they wanted to kill you."

Padme's hand shot over her mouth. "What?" She whispered.

Rhell nodded. "You were getting close, they said. And I wouldn't. I wasn't suppose to hear. But I did. And I knew what…was going to…to…to happen…And I wouldn't….I…." The man dissolved into tears.

Padme allowed her own to flow heedlessly down her cheeks. She gently embraced them man. "Thank you." She murmured into his shoulder.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Mejant rubbed Obi-Wan's arm, sitting beside him on the bed. Bant opened another box while pushing a light pink strand of hair behind her ear.

Their faces were somber. Mejant looked at him openly. Her full lips quivered. 

He was still, save for the deep, shuddering breaths.

Bant and Mejant exchanged compassionate, worried glances. Obi-Wan's lifelong friend turned back and pulled something from the container.

"Hm." She half-smiled, studying the stuffed animal. 

Mejant scrunched up her nose and giggled silently.

Obi-Wan lifted his head slightly. The palest shadow of amusement donned on him. "What? I still know when you're laughing, Mejant. What's so funny? That better not be my underpants you're holding, Bant."

"I wouldn't touch those things with a twenty-foot pole." 

Mejant snorted, then covered her nose with a hand in embarrassment.

Obi-Wan smiled. "I love it when you do that."

She blushed furiously.

Bant grinned. She tossed the furry toy to her.

Mejant tickled it against Obi-Wan's cheek. 

He frowned and pulled the animal into his hands. He felt it quickly. "Bant…Where did you get this?"

"One of the boxes. Why?"

Mejant touched his shoulder. 

Obi-Wan pressed the stuffed creature to his nose and inhaled. "Oh." He whispered so softly Mejant had to lean in closer to hear him. 

"What, Obi?" Bant stood. 

He ran his fingers along the soft body, stopping at the attached tag. "Nothing."

Mejant stroked his knee. "What is it?"

He shook his head. Tears threatened to sting his eyes. The thing was rich with the smell of…his Master. With the scent of that day, walking into the apartment, his only prize from the fair tucked under his arm. His happy mood shattered at the sight of Qui-Gon, feverish and suffering…….

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Mejant laughed, arm hooked to Obi-Wan's. Their cheeks were flushed and their noses shone red. His cloak was draped across her small shoulders. The blustery day did nothing to ruin the festivities of the Coruscant fair. As Jedi, they had only gone a handful of times, always accompanied by a Master chaperone. Today, the two were allowed to go alone, trusted fully by the teachers. 

Obi-Wan was a tad concerned. His Master had intended to come along, but this morning he was feeling a little under the weather. The seventeen year old, in his everlasting sweetness and selflessness, offered to stay behind. Qui-Gon smiled gently at him before ushering him out the door.

He had a wonderful time. Mejant was too nervous to ride the giant roller coasters, with the huge loops, twists and turns. After a tray of cheese-drenched grain chips, Obi-Wan didn't mind staying on the ground. They munched on light, sticky, artificially colored candy. A patch of the stuff stuck to her lip, which the male Jedi was more than happy to lick off for her. 

Mejant and Obi-Wan played every game they could, tossing rings and shooting water blasters. Mejant won a cheap, but utterly charming, purple necklace she immediately clasped around her neck. Obi-Wan billowed his lip, pretending to be disappointed he had yet to be rewarded anything. Finally, after five rounds of throwing balls in a high, small hoop, the runner of the game gave him a stuffed Bantha out of pity. Mejant laughed so hard she nearly fell over.

Now, in the dim Temple hallway, she yawned and kissed his cheek.

Obi-Wan smiled, smoothing ebony hair before keying the entrance code. "See you tomorrow. That was fun."

She grinned. "Night, Obi."

He walked into the apartment. Immediately he sensed the morose atmosphere. His heart clenched up. "Master?" The rooms were darkened. Obi-Wan moved down the hallway. "Master?"

Qui-Gon's door was opened. The Padawan peeked his head in. 

Jinn was laying in bed. Waves of pain ran thick in the air. 

Obi-Wan jogged to his side. He grasped the coarse, hot hand in his. "Master? Are you alright?"

Qui-Gon slowly opened his eyes to red-stained slits. He coughed hard, then smiled up at his apprentice. "How was your night, Obi-Wan?"

His voice was raw. Obi-Wan winced. "Fine, Master." He sat beside Qui-Gon and stroked his forehead. "How are you?"

"Okay. I missed you."

Obi-Wan smiled. "I missed you too." He yanked the animal from behind his back, sitting it on Qui-Gon's stomach. "I got this for you."

Qui-Gon snorted, while hacking into his fist. Then he studied the little Bantha, an amused twinkle in his weary eyes. "You got this for me?"

Obi-Wan nodded and stroked the sweaty hair plastered to his Master's face back. 

Qui-Gon pulled him into his arms, kissing the space between his brows. "Thank you, my Padawan. I will treasure it always." 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Bant sat next to him. "Obi, what's the matter? It's just a toy."

Obi-Wan brought it to his chest. "Yeah, I know…It's just a toy."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon watched a bead of moisture, capturing every color of the room in its watery, round surface, as it trailed down Obi-Wan's forehead, leaving a gleaming trail on sun bathed skin. It was a different sweat. It was the rain of the body, drenching the Knight in relief of the fever. 

For each tiny droplet of perspiration, Obi-Wan was growing stronger. He would be well.

The Master released a breath he had been mostly unaware of holding between his teeth. His neck ached from the slumped posture he had adopted over the last hour.

Maybe there was a slim, outside chance, that he was growing too old to watch over an ailing youth. Perhaps he had passed the time when he could nurse another throughout the night.

__

I would still stay at my Padawan's side, even if I was hobbling around on a cane with only three teeth. 

He swallowed, sitting upright. He looked at Obi-Wan, gleaming in a sickly, but oddly pleasant, luminescence. Had he _that_ easily thought of this grown man, who now displayed short stubble on his round jaw, as his apprentice?

An image of Anakin rose in his head. A wide-eyed, unfailingly optimistic, child scampering along the sand dunes, a hot wind ruffling his golden hair. He had cared for the boy instantly. Somewhere in his hidden truths, he had loved him from the moment Obi-Wan announced the unusually high medi-chlorian count. 

Anakin was his Padawan. For years, now. 

Another face floated into his mental periphery. A different child, a bit older, but just as beautiful and innocent, fixing determined eyes on Qui-Gon. Pressing his own body to the wall on the gloomy world of Bandomeer, ready to sacrifice _everything_. The Force joining them in what could only be described as destined harmony…The feeling of completion…

Then, the last visage painted over his eyelids. _Shmi._ Her face hardened by coarse, blistering elements. Her hands made rough by endless labor. One small wish from her…_Save him_. The plea was whispered into his consciousness. A _promise_. His word was unbreakable. It was the final mission of his heart.

He looked at Obi-Wan again. 

And the guilt welled in him again. 

So many strings, tied to his spirit, tugging in countless directions.

Which could he cut, to keep from being strangled?

For Anakin was his protégé now, and despite his allegiances to former companions, he _had_ to be Qui-Gon's priority. Yet, didn't Obi-Wan deserve his attention, shouldn't he receive the care he sorely needed?

The yawning cave of darkness he discovered in the Knight's mind was not to be ignored. The gnawing loneliness was not what should reside in such a virtuous spirit. There was light smothered in that black space. Qui-Gon was certain he could lead Obi-Wan to it, if allowed to enter again.

But after his violent reaction, the older Jedi was wary. He had lost further trust. He needed to regain it before he could begin to patch their relationship.

These were the friends dearest to him. 

He could, _would,_ help them both.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The infuriation rose in him like a burning, unstoppable squall. _All that damn _planning_, and a half-conscious prisoner is able to escape._

Berrel shoved his hand against his chin, biting down hard on his lip until a thin stream of blood stained the metallic, orange undertone fingers. 

Rhell Vininon had his memory. Worse, he knew of their agenda. Vininon was surely blabbing to everyone about the task he was to be assigned: to kill that meddling Senator. She was making more problems then Berrel could deal with. If news spread, business would slow. 

He needed that money if he wanted to keep Ileana happy. She wouldn't stay with him if he was another bum in stained rags. Or, skies forbid, a convicted criminal.

Berrel wiped the dribble of maroon from his chin and strode into the musty, dark room.

"You."

A man turned, his eyes glazed and utterly confused. "Wha? Me?"

"Yeah. You." He crossed his arms and grinned. "How would you like to be famous?"

The man shrugged. His memory was erased a few days before, and the fogginess was still hanging over him. "How would I be famous? Why?"

Berrel squeezed his shoulder. "To be famous you have to do something very important, right?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm asking you to do something _very_ important. Will you do it?"

The man nodded fervently.

Berrel chuckled. "Good. Just stay here. I have to find a picture."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme stepped outside again. Her tears dried to stillness in her eyes, and the deep orbs glimmered, revealing a newfound melancholy she would never be able to explain.

Especially to Ileana Zimn. 

It was not so much the discovery that her life was in danger. That had happened, on occasion. Bodyguards were never far away. In this endeavor, she requested they wait outside. 

Today she had glimpsed a soul crumbling, felt the clammy hands of one slowly dying. Living in a mental institution would not be living at all, she realized. And Rhell Vininon might have known that. On a level, he was sane as he strove to deliver a last coherent warning. He was a good man. 

Padme closed her eyes and shook her head. 

Ileana, cold to the bone, looked up, seeing the Senator. She headed for the younger woman. "Milady."

Padme breathed in; she forced herself to forget for the time being. "Ileana."

"Are you alright."

The Senator smiled. "Of course I am, Ileana. It was a simple interview. I gathered some vital information." Her gaze shifted slightly beyond her. "And soon enough, we will free those men."

"I trust that you will, Milady. When are the Jedi arriving?"

Padme's stomach fluttered. Her heart lightened. "Oh, that had slipped my mind…A few hours. We should get going."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan's head was pounding. The pain had dulled, leaving only a tickle in his throat and a distant soreness in his limbs. He was feeling a great deal better.

Except his head. There was a raw ache in his mind, rippling to every thought. _Force, it hurts to THINK._

He felt something smooth and icy and, from the distinct taste, almost certainly metal, placed gently under his tongue. He coughed. " Whush goin on?

His lips were closed, and he struggled. The exertion thundered in his head. 

"Settle down, Obi-Wan. Why are you always ready to fight?"

Obi-Wan sunk down with a huff. The thermometer was removed. His throat was parched, and his words were hardly discernable. "Why are you still here?"

Instead of a verbal reply, Qui-Gon pressed a plastic cup against his mouth. Obi-Wan needed to grasp onto every tendril of pride possible. But right now, he needed a drink more.

He gulped the Triali leaf tea, and refreshing coolness ran through his drained body. He sucked up the last speck, and his lips were wet as he reclined once more.

"_Why_ are you still here?"

Qui-Gon smirked. He had to admire that tenacious manner. "You're still ill."

"I'm NOT your concern. I am perfectly capable---"

"Stop it. Before you can rattle off an indignant speech of your equal abilities, let me tell you that your temperature was severe. You can die from such heat. And you were unconscious. It's silly to think you could have done anything in your condition."

"You went too far."

Qui-Gon felt a spike of shame. "There wasn't any strong medicine. Not a single antibiotic--"

"I would rather die a thousand deaths than have _anyone_ invade me so…deeply." His voice was harsh, and Qui-Gon heard the underlying humiliation. Flush spotted soft cheeks. "You had NO right. None."

"I apologize. What happened was---not supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I didn't want to see what I saw, Obi-Wan. But I did. I can't just disregard it ---"

"_YES _you will." His teeth grit. His fingers twisted in the sheets.

Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's hands. "Obi-Wan, what I saw---"

"You don't understand…what you saw." He whispered. "You don't. So get out."

"Obi----"

"I am a Knight, Master Jinn. How many times must I remind you of it before you realize you can't control me anymore? 

"Now…GO." He ground out slowly. 

Qui-Gon stood. "I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. I don't care if it embarrasses you. I saw what you've been concealing---"

Obi-Wan rolled onto his stomach and folded the pillow over his ears. _I can't hear this I can't take this Not this He doesn't know He can't know_

Qui-Gon looked down at the man who had once been his apprentice, now huddled in the bed, shaking. He crouched next to him, and draped a strong arm over Obi-Wan's shoulders. 

"You don't have to hide from me." He stressed, breath warming the younger man's ear. "You're not alone."

But the statement, spoken in such confidence, was a lie. In the hollow pit of his soul, he was alone. Forever in the darkness. He would travel in the shadows, leeching light from his friends, until he was allowed to stop. Oh, how he wanted to stop. "Go away."

"It doesn't need to be this way."

Obi-Wan battled the onslaught of tears. He buried his head farther. "Just…Just…shut up."

"Obi-Wan, remember how it used to be between us. Try to think of---"

"I leave the past where it belongs." Moisture seeped into the sheets from his sightless eyes. His voice was wobbly. "Now…go!"

"I can't."

Obi-Wan sat up. His breaths were fast and ragged. "You came into my mind without invitation, and stole the last thing I had… Privacy. Now---"

"I can help you."

Obi-Wan smiled, but it was a sarcastic expression. Rivers rolled down his face. "You want me to remember the past, Master Jinn? How about you recall something yourself? What did I tell you in the hospital, all those years ago?"

Qui-Gon sealed his eyes. He could hardly bare to speak of it. "You said…I was dead to you."

"Yes. So all you are is a ghost that haunts me. Ghosts aren't real, though, are they? I don't believe in them…"

Qui-Gon braced his shoulders. "Stop this! Stop and think of what you are doing to yourself! Stop shutting everything out!"

Obi-Wan pried himself out of the grip. "Leave me alone!" And , before he was fully aware of what he was doing, punched Qui-Gon squarely in the face.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin's head sprang up. The pain and surprise flooded his mental connection with Qui-Gon. In a Force-enhanced flash, he was out the door and down the hall.

Qui-Gon was walking through Kenobi's door into the corridor, a hand pressed over his nose.

Anakin's brow twisted. He touched his mentor's arm. "Master? What's wrong?"

The intelligence was present in midnight blue eyes, but their glassy gleam concerned Anakin. "Master?"

Qui-Gon looked at him then, and his hand fell away. "Anakin, can you get me a washcloth?"

Anakin gasped, wide eyed. Blood was dripping from Qui-Gon's nose, where a massive, purplish bruise was forming. "Master!"

Qui-Gon began toward their shared quarters. "I…know. It probably looks terrible."

His comments sounded dazed and detached. Anakin jogged up beside him. "Master, what happened?!"

The elder man fingered the swollen nose gingerly, and inhaled sharply at the sting. "I'm going to sit down a moment before we land." 

Anakin guided him to a chair. "Okay." He replied softly. "I'll get you a washcloth."

"Thank you, Padawan."

A warmth bloomed in Skywalker's heart. 

He hastened into the hallway to retrieve some gauze and bacta spread as well, but stopped at Kenobi's door.

His eyes narrowed. _Him. It was him._ _He hurt **my** Master…again._

Revenge would be so easy, he mused. Just storm into the room and give that Sith spawn what was coming to him.

The temptation seemed to tremble at Anakin's fingertips, but he breathed in, pushing the violent thoughts back. _I have to help Qui-Gon. He needs me._

The knowledge pleased him. He smiled slightly as he collected the supplies.

__

Master needs me.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan scrambled up from the bed. He felt a hot wetness on his throbbing hand. _I hit him_ . At first, he was satisfied. The barest part of him wished harm to the man that had done---so much. He craved the vengeance for a life, a future burning bright, abruptly extinguished. The agony of existence needled him. He wanted someone else to experience the pain.

The person who caused it.

__

No. Obi-Wan pressed his hands to his cheeks. _No. It was the Sith. Red and black. Qui-Gon didn't._

But, during those endless nights, solitary and wrapped in a dark freeze, he allowed the thoughts to be entertained. _He left. He knew I couldn't handle it._

__

NO. The Knight negated again, but the idea was reigning strongly in his mind now. _Mejant. I'll talk to Mejant. She'll tell me what's right._

Commlinks were usually located beside doors. Obi-Wan stepped carefully toward where he remembered entering, arms stretched out.

He felt the buttons, and smiled. _Good. Mejant will help_. Shakily, he punched in her number.

"Hello?"

Obi-Wan nearly wept. "Mejant. Oh…It's so good to hear your voice."

"Awwww…. You old softie."

"Mejant."

Her tone was urgent when she sensed her love's distress. "What?"

"I…I hit him."

"What? Hit who?"

The blood on his skin was suddenly very present in his mind. "Qui-Gon."

"Oh." She silently registered the information. 

"I had to talk to you. I love you and I know you can think of something."

"Think of something? Think of what?"

"What I should do! Think of what I should do, Mejant."

Mejant sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, Obi. I love you too, but this is your mission. The decisions need to be yours."

Tears filmed his dead eyes. "I can't. I just want…to be…" He trailed off, afraid to speak what was innermost in his heart. 

Mejant was steady. "What do you want to be?" 

Silence.

"Obi?"

A shuddering breath. "I better go. I love you."

The connection was cut. Mejant stood in her quarters, apprehension roiling in her stomach. _I love you Obi-Wan._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon kept the rough handkerchief against his wounded nose to staunch the bleeding. The pain was watering his eyes.

Which was a perfect excuse for the tears already formed there.

It was a good blow, powerful without exerting too much energy. He had never experienced firsthand the sheer physical strength of Obi-Wan. Never felt the hand he used to hold after a harrowing nightmare smash into his face. 

__

He didn't mean it. 

He was upset and weary, recovering from serious illness. Perhaps Qui-Gon had been too persistent, didn't know when to let things be.

__

How could I overlook what I saw? The darkness is swallowing him.

The very notion sent a shiver through his body. Obi-Wan was the epitome of purity, goodness flowed in him, compassion and duty guided his every action. Despite their turbulent history, Qui-Gon held to that belief.

It was a great evil, a shameful injustice, that Obi-Wan should be lost in the black , turned away from the warming beacon of the Force.

__

He didn't mean it.

They had been in the midst of arguments before, and they _never_ ended in violence. Qui-Gon didn't sense that raw, vicious reaction boiling within him. Obi-Wan had not been passive. A calm dignity prevented him from bursting out that way. It was the angle of his personality that seemed set in stone.

Today, that stone had crumbled. 

__

He didn't mean it.

He wasn't thinking.

After the initial shock of the punch, Qui-Gon's instant desire was to grab the younger Jedi by his shoulders and shake the desolation, something that used to be foreign to that gentle, vivacious spirit, out, until the true Obi-Wan was returned.

His nose throbbed more intensely.

A gray thought swept across his mind, like a sudden, dusty wind, scattering his self-assurances as if they were crushed leaves.

__

What if this is how he will be? What if I cannot undo what has been done?

What if he's just…lost?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"They will arrive on Naboo today."

Maul nodded, lifting his gaze to his cloaked Master. "Yes."

Sidious smirked. "It has begun already. I can sense---very faintly---the boy's anger. The irritation. And a budding lust. The Senator will distract him.

"But the Knight will destroy him. "

Maul frowned. "You have foreseen it, my Master?"

"Not quite. It is only a base premonition. I am not certain how it will occur." He croaked. He tapped his pale, blue veined fingers against each other. "And the Knight will not destroy his _life_. Only his Jedi career. The boy hates the Knight, more than anyone else in the Universe." A sour chuckle followed.

It was strange, Maul mused, that a Jedi and a Sith could have something in common.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan turned the knob, sucking in breaths as his heart hammered. The moment replayed in his mind. His fist colliding with Qui-Gon. The quick burst of satisfaction. 

It was a pleasure born of darkness, he knew, and once his actions had settled in his mind, he was disgusted by them. He had lashed out. Not in hate, or mindless rage. In anger.

__

A Jedi does not know anger.

He splashed the cool water on his heated face. Soothing liquid streamed down his skin, a few drops nestled in his hair.

He leaned against the sink with his hands gripping the sides as he waited for his temperature to lessen. His belly gurgled uneasily.

__

How could I have done that? I was irritated with him. But I would never---

The bile rushed to his throat, and he felt feverishly for the toilet, mouth clamped tightly shut.

He touched onto the cold surface.

And gave into the sickness.

He wretched roughly, the very intensity of the heaves stripping his throat of the brief, numb relief.

"Oh damn." He managed to choke out in a raking voice.

__

"You are dead to me."

"I can help you."

"…ghost that haunts me.."

His stomach lurched again.

"_I take you as my Padawan learner."_

"I love you, Master."

"I take Anakin as my Padawan learner."

Red and black. Pain.

"You ARE different, Obi-Wan."

And again.

Until his body was emptied, until there was nothing left to be expelled, and he rested his sweaty cheek against the edge, panting.

The ship rumbled beneath him. Footsteps in the distance. A knock at the door.

"Force." He wiped his damp brow. _We've landed._

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"Here you go, Master."

Qui-Gon accepted the cloth, and dabbed it on his nose, quelling a hiss.

Anakin paused, patting his mentor's shoulder before turning to gather his pack.

The aging Jedi smiled. For all the hushed words floating around the Temple, namely the Council Chamber, of Anakin Sywalker being dangerous, here the boy was, offering a comforting gesture to a foolish old man. 

Anakin could barely handle the excitement and joy barreling through him. Already he could feel the gentler atmosphere of Naboo. He glimpsed the vast, grassy fields and violet tinted mountains from the small window. He stood there, entranced by the breathtaking view.

Qui-Gon's happy expression faded. In a few minutes, Anakin would be reunited with Padme Amidala. He was a growing youth, and his infatuation with her would be increased now. They were both older and, Qui-Gon noted, more independent.

The Master hoped to avoid the always awkward reminder to his Padawan of the Jedi code. Such talks unfailingly had a blushing effect on Obi-Wan----

He steered from the memory.

He stood and cleared his throat. Anakin continued to gaze out into the distance.

Qui-Gon sighed. Suddenly his back and knees ached. _I'm getting too old for this._ "Anakin." He said loudly, with a small hint of premature reprove.

Anakin turned. He attempted to appear regretful, but his dimly blue eyes twinkled. "Yes, Master."

They began walking. 

"It _is _a beautiful world, isn't it?" Qui-Gon asked.

Anakin grinned. "Yes, beautiful."

The response stirred something in the Force. Qui-Gon refused to acknowledge it as a warning.

The other door slid open, and Obi-Wan emerged, somewhat slowly. 

His face was pallid, though a bit of normal color had returned. He was fully dressed, hair combed (absently by a hand, Qui-Gon wagered) and carrying a bag. Small bristles stood out on the Knight's chin and cheeks. Even an individual of an abnormally low medi-chlorian count could sense the deep exhaustion rolling of the form.

Qui-Gon caught a quick sneer pass over Anakin's face. He couldn't blame the boy. The Master's nose _was _a mess, and it _was _Obi-Wan's doing. Most apprentices were fiercely protective of their teachers. He decided to ignore it. For now. "Knight Kenobi."

Obi-Wan swallowed, resisting the urge to nervously finger the strap of his tote. "M-Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon's heart ached at the sore sound. He hesitated, not wanting to leave things this unresolved. A cloud so murky could not be hovering above him during the entire mission. Anakin started moving forward again.

Once he was a good twenty feet ahead, Jinn stepped beside Kenobi, and squeezed his hand. "I still mean what I said." He informed him quietly. "I'll still help you."

Conflict flashed in the handsome features, then settled into blandness. "You can't." He shook his head, and walked away.

Frustration grasped Qui-Gon tautly, only to be overwhelmed by determination. _But I will_.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme shaded her eyes with a hand. Her flowing black gown was rippled by the wind. Auburn hair was swept into a braided bun, but free strands were blown into her face. 

The hatch popped open.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Anakin Skywalker came down the metal ramp, his eyes instantly riveted to her.

She smiled.

Anakin grinned wildly, trotting up to her. "Padme."

She touched his forearm. "Ani! You look so much older!"

He glanced at her hand, still on him. "So do you. No, not that you look _old_, just…" He sputtered, cheeks bright red.

To his relief, and delight, Padme laughed lightly. "It's been too long. I have thought of you often, the little boy who saved my world…Only you're not so little anymore." Her eyes flicked over his tall, muscular body. 

If possible, Anakin smiled wider. "I've thought of you every day, Padme. "

She looked up at him then, shocked and flattered.

Obi-Wan descended the ramp, followed closely by Qui-Gon.

Her focus turned at once to the blinded Jedi. She walked briskly to him, and grasped his hands. "Knight Kenobi."

He bowed. "It is good to be in your presence again, Milady."

Her smile was twisted to a frown. She could see the sheen of sweat on his skin, gleaming against the sunlight. Before she could inquire, Qui-Gon caught her attention by shaking his head.

Padme looked at the Knight once more, understanding. "And Master Jinn. It's so wonderful to see---to meet with you again."

He too, bent in respect. "And you, Milady."

Throughout the reunion, Anakin's eyes were glued to the radiant Senator. His fingers curled and uncurled anxiously. 

He studied her shoulders, slightly tan, glowing warmly in the afternoon brilliance. A great, powerful contentment swelled in him. _My Padme._

The Captain ran up to them. "Hey! You forgot this!" 

Siron 7 was trailing after him, bleeping.

Obi-Wan stifled his groan.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The woman and her Jedi companions piled into the stretch, luxury cloud car.

Padme noticed that Anakin slipped in front of Obi-Wan, so that he was seated beside her. She folded her hands in her lap.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were shoulder to shoulder. The droid was placed on the floor, still leaving ample foot room.

The vehicle zoomed into the air.

"Have there been any new developments in the case, Senator?" The Master asked.

Padme leaned forward to address him. "One of the victims, Rhell Vininon, escaped. He was found by locals, and taken to the hospital." She delayed, continually disturbed by the kind man's terrible condition. "He, um, was treated for a viral infection. He displayed numerous signs of mental instability. I spoke with him privately, and he told me that before he escaped, the men were planning on training him to…kill me."

Anakin allowed the hate and wrath to sweep in him. "What?!"

Padme could not help but feel complimented by the concern. "Yes. He said he couldn't harm me, and he somehow got away from his captors."

Qui-Gon nodded, registering the events. "Is he able to undergo further interviewing?"

"He is still ill. It was horrible to watch him suffer, just to pump information out of him. I would not want him to be subjected to it again."

Anakin marveled at her compassion.

Obi-Wan rubbed his face. He was light-headed again, and it was difficult to secure his hazy focus to the discussion. _I can't sit here like an idiot and say nothing! _"Did Mr. Vininon mention anything concerning the layout of the place? Any elevators or something unique?"

"No. He was discovered close to his home, passed out. I believe he was trying to reach his home, and could have traveled awhile before collapsing. He was drenched in sweat. The area surrounding the location has been searched." She blew out a grim breath. "Nothing has been found."

__

Her leg is touching mine. Anakin gazed at her. _I had forgotten just how wonderful and intelligent she is. _

"Have you tightened your security since Mr.Vininon revealed the plot to kill you, Senator?" Obi-Wan furthered the conversation. 

"A decoy, Corde, has been placed in my office, in case an attack is scheduled there." Her eyes fell. "I worry for her safety. Many have endangered themselves for me."

"I am sure they are well-prepared for any incidents, Milady. Everyone has their duties." 

Something in the tone of his voice captured both Padme and Qui-Gon's attention. 

The Master knew what Obi-Wan was truly speaking of. It was disturbing to think the Knight felt his obligations to the Order were such a weighty burden. He wanted to give his ex-Padawan some sign of support, but was aware it would be shrugged off.

Padme sat back. Her forehead was creased.

Anakin was livid at the ensuing silence. _Is this the time for everyone to mourn Kenobi? Please, not you too, Padme._

The cloud car headed for Ileana Zimn's residence.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Adi Gallia glanced at Mace Windu, who had his smooth, dark head lowered.

Her vibrant eyes flickered with concern. "Mace?"

He looked up at her. "Yes?" Shadow was pooled in the creases of his face.

Olive skin was softened by the Chamber's gentle light. "Mace, he'll be alright. He needs this."

"How do you know I was thinking about him?" A weak defense gleamed in his intelligent countenance.

"Because," She responded calmly, voice mild and always rational, "we all are."

Mace stared at her a moment, then sighed, shifting in his seat. "This should not be the way. I can't forgive what Qui-Gon did to him."

She smiled, saddened but understanding. "It is not for you to forgive."

He pressed his fist to his mouth. "We should have tossed Qui-Gon out on his rogue a---"

"Mace." Adi interjected, raising a slim hand. "You know as well as I do that Qui-Gon Jinn follows the beat of a drum far different than ours. Where that sound takes him is out of his control. He is a true Jedi."

"_You _are a Jedi too, Adi. And you never would have abandoned your apprentice the way he did. Hastily, without offering a scintilla of an explanation."

"He loves Obi-Wan."

Mace paused in contemplation. When he spoke again, he sounded desperately weathered. "Yes."

"And Obi-Wan loves him."

"Yes. Their connection was woven in the Force long ago. I don't doubt that. But where does Padawan Skywalker fit into this? I worry about that boy."

She frowned. "What do you sense, Mace?"

He rested his forehead on his folded hands. "That Naboo is a planet that will curse them all. Perhaps Yoda was correct."

"What??"

Mace gazed out the window. "Things are changing, my friend. Even now."

Adi studied him. "For Obi-Wan?"

He locked eyes with her. "For everyone."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

While Anakin chatted excitedly to Padme about every topic imaginable, Obi-Wan carefully reclined his neck, resting his head on the velour seat. The ache was moderate enough for him to initiate a successful healing trance, but unless he was going to have a good three hours free to lay flat on his back, it didn't matter.

He remained in a slightly slumped position, and it didn't bother him quite so much.

Qui-Gon studied him, disconcerted by his waxen pallor. Without potent medication, he would not improve. The Master resolved to ask Senator Amidala in private if a strong remedy could be ordered. 

Black stained the skin beneath those dead eyes.

Qui-Gon's chest hurt sharply.

He didn't know how much longer he could bear to watch his former apprentice suffer.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The cloud car slowed to a smooth stop, in a clean and bright neighborhood. The homes were all distinct, save a few architectural similarities. The yards were lush and grassy. 

Ileana's door was bordered by a vine of healthy, flourishing garnet flowers. 

Padme admired them from the vehicle's window. The two women shared a love for decorating. "Here were are. This is the residence of the woman who has been the greatest help to our case." 

Anakin nodded, gaze still sewn to her. 

Qui-Gon shot his apprentice a disapproving look, that went unnoticed. "I have been looking forward to meeting her, Senator. To work as diligently as she does, with justice her only reward, is worthy of commendation. "

The young politician smiled. "I agree, Master Jedi. She is not just an assistant to my case. She is also a great friend."

"You must have many friends." Anakin commented softly.

Padme turned her head to conceal her blush. "She is expecting us." And then the Senator stepped out of the car. The apprentice was quick to follow.

Obi-Wan rubbed the space between his brows, lingering on his seat.

Fingers brushed against his hand. He knew they were Qui-Gon's, and was about to shove him away, but the touch was gone a second later.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

He groaned, turning onto his stomach, fingers clawing at his pillow.

The face hovered in front of him. The yellow, crooked rows of teeth, bared in a feral grin. The malevolent glint of inhuman eyes. The jagged designs.

Red and black.

Always the red and black.

It was the creature that stalked him, that crept into bright dreams and spilled shadows, leaving the darkness. Laughter, soft and cruel and all too memorable, split his eardrums.

"Return to your pathetic Temple."

Obi-Wan screamed, and was thrown from the nightmare, the hellish specter disappearing into the constant void. 

The Knight sat up, cold sweat bathing his naked chest. He breathed out heavily.

The terror of the moment gripped him with bone-crushing intensity. Obi-Wan released a weak, ragged sob as he flung the covers aside.

He clambered out of the bed and walked straight ahead, unheeding of the cautions to be careful, to take each step gradually, with a cane for added support.

Obi-Wan fell to his knees and felt around feverishly for the box. His fingers raked against the cardboard flap, and he smiled, tears flooding his cheeks.

He searched with desperately quaking hands, until the soft material was captured in them.

"Oh." He gasped, clutching the stuffed animal to him. He inhaled deeply of the scent: spice and sea-side blooms. It was the aroma that surrounded Qui-Gon, that would comfort him in moments of fear or uncertainty. That filled his lungs, and calmed inner torrents.

He remembered waking in strange rooms, cords protruding from his limbs, and calling for his Master. Being pacified before those strong arms wove around him, by the familiar fragrance.

Obi-Wan huddled on the ground, rocking slowly, his former teacher's discarded gift cradled in his clammy embrace.

His mind was still fuzzy from sleep, and soon he slipped to that limbo between slumber and awareness. The Sith leaped into sight once more.

But now, his eyes were awash with midnight blue. A brown beard, streaked with gray, protruded from his chin. His body grew long and lean and rangy, dressed in tan tunics. 

He looked openly at Obi-Wan, then grinned. "My fault, Padawan."

Obi-Wan shuddered, beads of misery slipping from closed eyelids. "No."

And the figure was swept into the black.

It was the same nearly every night. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Berrel sat with his arms crossed over a hardened, sculpted chest. He regarded the other man with cool detachment, and the slightest hint of haughty disgust. This was a machine with flesh, a droid possessing something akin to a heart. It was a tool used for advancement. The man could be discarded at any time, if the need arose. 

That seemed, however, not to be the case. This prisoner was a natural, unlike some of his fellow captives, whose training was all that separated them from average citizens. This man held a blaster as if the grooves were made to fit the specific form of his fingers. His aim was remarkable.

Berrel cocked his head at the wall, where a small white circle was tacked to the crumbling, gray surface. "Who's that?"

The man's eyes held the vacancy of a mind-wipe, but the underlying, _instinctive _reactions, the raw intelligence, was evident. Berrel watched as the potential killer lifted the weapon, without his wrist bending slightly or awkwardly at the added weight. Those eyes narrowed in unmistakable ire. 

"The…Senator." The man growled. And, without instruction, he fired, blowing a hole in the target.

Blackened shreds of the paper scattered on the ground. Berrel imagined it was Padme Amidala, exploding in pain, reduced to unrecognizable bits. 

He grinned. "Good. You learn well." He stood, rubbing his hands together. "It's almost a waste to use you on her. With that skill, you could easily take on some lucrative clients. But, hey." He stopped in front of the silent figure, "First things first."

The man nodded. 

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The door slid open, and Ileana's eyes flashed to each new face before settling on Padme's. She smiled. "Welcome, Milady. And the Jedi."

The men bowed. 

"It is an honor to be in your presence." Qui-Gon commented, kindness and respect reflected in his eyes. 

Ileana put a slim hand to her chest. She blushed. "Thank you, sir." She glanced over his shoulder, appearing a bit unsettled. Then, her gaze drifted back to them, and she smiled again, though half-heartedly. "Please, come inside."

The woman led them to a modest main room, with wine-colored furniture and bare walls. Two shaggy, blonde dogs came galloping up to the small group. They were huge, long ears flopping as the approached. 

"They're very sweet." Ileana assured. "But they may not warm up to strangers too fast."

Her predictions were instantly proved incorrect. Two pairs of paws pinned Obi-Wan's knees against a wall. He made a small, surprised 'oof' sound.

Ileana's eyes widened. "Tika! Leram! Down!"

But Obi-Wan only smiled, quickly overcoming his initial shock, and extended a calm hand to pet the furry creatures. "It's alright, Miss Zimn."

Padme studied his even, very nearly benevolent countenance in open fondness.

This caught Anakin's attention at once, and a jealousy flared in him.

Qui-Gon watched as his ex-protégé playfully ruffled the thick, soft manes. The dogs licked his hands, panting, their azure eyes glittering with delight.

Anakin saw everyone drawn to Kenobi, as if he were some attracting force. He tried to console himself, he tried to remember what Chancellor Palpatine had said. _"You are far better than _he._" _Inside, Skywalker smiled smugly.

__

I know. I will not forget the wisdom you imparted upon me.

He focused a hooded glare on Kenobi. _I will show everyone the truth._

And in the end, they will thank me.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

They settled in the main room, the Jedi sharing a sofa while the two women sat on a plush loveseat. 

Anakin chafed at the small separation from Padme. He looked longingly at her from his place on the farthest cushion. 

The dogs were nestled against Obi-Wan, one on each side, their lovely, innocent eyes drooping.

Ileana's heart warmed at their affection for this poor man. "I must tell you, Knight Kenobi, I was very much shocked at how quickly Tika and Liram took a liking to you. Usually they are wary of strangers." She beamed at her sleepy and thoroughly adorable pets. "They are protective of me. Since---" She swallowed hard, and her eyelashes fluttered. Strain appeared in lines on her face. "Since I left my former love, I have been a lonely woman. But these two have been the dearest company anyone could wish for. "

Obi-Wan could, of course, not see the physical signs of painful recollection, but read it easily through her tone. He smiled softly. "I can understand." He lowered his hand to stroke a napping dog, concealing his own sudden, striking reminder of bitter solitude. He cleared his throat. "And I'm---"

"Padme, does Ileana know of the threat on your life?" Anakin blurted, unable to control his irritation and boredom.

Padme hesitated, turning toward Obi-Wan to gauge his reaction. But the Knight seemed to have lost his words, for he sat silent, feathery ginger hair gleaming bright. Weariness ringed his eyes. She reluctantly replied. "No."

Ileana gasped sharply, grasping the Senator's arm. "Milady, why did you not tell me?!"

"Because I knew it would upset you."

Ileana shook her head, what very well could have been tears glimmering in her eyes. A wavy strand of red hair fell in her face. "I already knew Berrel was annoyed by your efforts. But I didn't know---He was as serious about it---I thought he was going to try to scare you off---I didn't know---" She gathered a shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry, Milady."

Padme patted her friend's arm. "Don't be. You have helped me immensely, Ileana." A darkness flitted over her visage. "Things are growing very dangerous. For me--and for you. We need to be careful."

Qui-Gon, who had been an observer throughout the conversations, finally spoke. "Indeed." He shifted his intelligent gaze toward Ileana. "You must be _extremely_ careful not to allow certain bits of information to slip to that man. If some things were to be revealed, he may find a way to profit from the knowledge."

A chill swept through her body. "I know." She replied quietly.

Padme noticed her strangely withdrawn manner, and vowed to inquire of it later. For now, she took the reigns of the discussion. "Tomorrow, I would like to have you study the demographic I have created that fits every victim. For all the men, we are not certain they have been kidnapped, but it 's more than likely."

The Master nodded. "Would it be possible for us to receive a list of suspicious areas? With our sharpened senses, we may be able to locate the underground prison, or at least narrow the list."

"I will have that sent to your room tonight, Master Jinn." Padme assured. "I have also documents incidents Ileana has witnessed that I will include for you." She glanced at the woman again, frowning, then looked at the Jedi. "You must be a bit worn out from your journey. I think I should escort you to your residence now."

Relief registered as a sigh by Ileana. 

Anakin stood, and disturbed the slumbering dogs. They leaped off the couch, yipping angrily at him. 

Ileana crossed her arms. "Now now! Stop that!"

The apprentice sent a soothing wave through the Force to them.

The creatures did not receive it kindly. They continued to bark and growl, drool dripping from sharp teeth.

"Leave me alone you mutts." Anakin muttered, walking faster to the door.

Obi-Wan traveled with the rest. He would have been amused, had he not been exhausted and in near agony. Already his gait was slowed. 

An arm wove around his. Padme touched his hand in a friendly gesture. "Was there something more you wanted to say back there, Knight Kenobi?"

He shook his head, ignoring the shaft of pain that accompanied the meager movement. "No, Milady." 

Anakin craned his neck to see where she was, and his eyes narrowed when he found her. Clasping onto Kenobi, grinning, lighting up the room with her sparkle. 

__

She's not supposed to care about HIM. I hate him. More and more as each second passes…

Before he could finish his thought, Tika nipped his leg.

"Ouch!" He exclaimed, jumping back.

Amusement pulsed in the Force. He threw his head up, but Kenobi was expressionless, as if he was totally unaware of the situation. 

He crouched down, rubbing his injured calf. _Must have imagined it._

Padme rushed to him. "Ani? Are you hurt?"

He stifled a satisfied, _gleeful_ smile, and looked up at her, grimacing. "Yeah----I guess."

The dramatic reply worked. She kneeled beside him, her delicate hand resting on his shoulder.

From his vantage point behind them, Qui-Gon shook his head, disappointed. _He is manipulating her. There is no pain at all._

Again, he had to wonder what grievous faults he had committed as a teacher to this young, often arrogant man. 

And to the silent, stony figure beside him.

"It isn't serious, Anakin." He said gruffly. "Let's not hold up the Senator. I'm sure she keeps a busy schedule. And we have work to do as well."

Anakin wanted nothing at that moment more than to give an open glare, but he nodded, eyes lowered. "Yes, Master."

Inside, his emotions danced. The tables were beginning to turn.

Padme Amidala was staring at _him_.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

__

Sidious raked cool, pale eyes over his apprentice. "You have done well." He croaked, only his mouth visible beneath a black cowl. Shadows bathed his aged face.

Maul bowed. Pride swept through him, reaching the corroded place that was once a heart. "Thank you, my Master."

"Yes…I am pleased that you did not kill him."

Confusion touched the design-covered face. "Who?"

Loose, gray-tinted lips curved to a chilling smile. "The Padawan. Tell me…was he an able warrior, my apprentice?"

Fire seemed to flicker in Maul's eyes. "No, Master. But he lasted longer than the other. He fled the battle."

Sidious nodded, smirking. "I expected nothing else from Qui-Gon Jinn. I larger coward has never been known." Hate dripped from his words.

"But Kenobi has potential." His piercing stare seemed to impale the fellow Sith, for Maul quickly had to smooth out the grimace threatening to mar his features. "He could prove a useful ally, if it were possible." Or more.

__

Maul was motionless. Disdain, and faint jealousy, broiled in him.

He had spent the first month after Naboo locked in a single room, as punishment for failing to kill Amidala. One small, insufficient meal was dropped at the door daily. His single command, given before he was shoved into the claustrophobic space, was to remember his shortcoming.

Oh, how he had thought of that moment, slashing his weapon across Kenobi's face, watching flawless flesh mottle and crackle. He relived the joy, a rancor building in him since the first day he heard his Master spat the cursed term 'Jedi', finally unleashed.

The Jedi should all die . As my ancestral Masters have written in the ancient tomes. 

__

Uncertainty flickered in him. Then why should my Master want Kenobi to live?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The sleek cloud car came to a stop. 

Dusk had bloomed in the Naboo sky, spreading shades of mandarin and pink upon the city. 

Theed Plaza was a grand structure. Awash with fair green tones, it towered above neighboring structures, the swirling tip among wispy clouds. There were countless rounded windows, framed in gold, and a massive arching door. 

An attendant, immaculately dressed in a velvet blue uniform, opened the vehicle's door, and held his hand out for Padme.

She accepted it. "Thank you, sir." 

Anakin followed, watching her straighten the minor wrinkles in her obsidian gown.

Another attendant moved to help Obi-Wan, but he politely declined, trying to ignore the burning grind in his temples. 

The apprentice gazed up at the hotel. "It's beautiful, Padme."

She smiled. "Yes. I love to stay here."

__

I wish you were staying. "Then I know I'll love it to." He replied quietly.

Qui-Gon had witnessed the somewhat intimate exchange, and nonchalantly walked between them, eyes focused on the Senator. "It is spectacular, Milady. Such extravagance should not be wasted on the likes of us."

Padme beamed. "Nonsense. Only the best for the protectors of the galaxy. I would not settle for anything else for you, Master Jedi."

Qui-Gon gave a small bow. "Thank you."

Anakin quickly imitated his Master's gesture. "Thank you, Padme." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Qui-Gon's chiding look.

"Senator Amidala." The Padawan muttered under his breath.

"It's getting a bit cold out here. Shall we go inside?" She began to head for the entrance.

"Oh…wait!" Anakin called after her.

Padme stopped. Qui-Gon favored him with a quizzical brow lifting. 

"We almost forgot the droid Padme so graciously has provided for Knight Kenobi!" He informed them, as if flabbergasted. 

Padme put her hand to her mouth, briskly returning to the car. "That's right, Ani! Thank you for reminding us!" She pulled the inactive droid from the back seat, and switched on its power.

Siron-7 came to life, arms stiffly working, artificial eyes blinking. Padme rubbed a small stain from the metal. "Isn't he wonderful?"

Obi-Wan forced a smile. "Yes, Milady. Thank you for your consideration. He has been---" He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, "A great help to me."

She clasped her hands together. "I thought he would be. Sometimes I have a few droids running around me office---just to collect papers and such. I find them to save me significant time, especially lately, with this awful case."

Anakin turned from them, grinning. He knew, if it was possible, Kenobi would be glaring daggers at him. 

"Well, now that we are, at last, prepared, let's get you settled." She lead the way inside.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mejant sat on the edge of her bed, ceramic mug cupped in her trembling hands.

The drapes were rippled by a cold wind that poured through the open window.

She stared at them, the near-rhythm of the billowing calming her disquieted spirit. Steam from the tea wafted up around her face, and the Knight breathed in the spicy warmth. 

The darkened apartment was dead still, but her mind spun. Tense worry roiled her stomach. Her skin was coated in ice.

Sleep had been elusive as of late. Nights were spent wandering her rooms, and sometimes the entire Temple, like a wraith. Her limbs ached, and her deep black eyes were awash with red.

Mejant sighed, setting the full container on the side table. She crawled beneath the sheets, long hair tied in a thick braid, dressed in silky maroon pajamas. 

The pillow was soft and inviting. She nestled her weary head in its comfort, and folded her chilled hands across her midsection.

The bland white ceiling stared down at her.

The young woman muttered a frustrated curse, sealing her eyes tight, and forcing her restless body to relax. 

She lay there. The silence was not silent at all. Instead, it created a sort of buzz that caused her to twitch. 

"For the stars' sake!" She whispered sharply, rolling onto her side, pressing the pillow against her ear.

For a moment, Mejant thought she was content.

Until a voice permeated her thoughts. A voice that was the velvet softness of her life, that cradled her in certainty and love. A voice that was no longer lilting. A voice that lost its most beautiful harmony.

__

" _I can't. I just want…to be…"_

The end of the sentence, hidden , haunted her. It frightened her to think of the countless, dismal possibilities. What quivered at the edge of his mouth. What he longed to reveal to her…but would not.

She toyed with the frayed necklace draping from her onto the bed. It was made of flimsy, loosely threaded material. Pale yellow and pink, intertwined, to create a simple design.

Obi-Wan gave it to her when they were children. It had been her birthday, and a small celebration was planned in the large quarters she shared with her Master.

__

Obi-Wan held out a small, wrapped box.

She smiled shyly, blushing. "Thank you Obi."

"You're welcome." He shifted his weight from his heels to his toes, rocking, bright eyes glittering. "Come on. Open it!"

Mejant giggled, then tore off the slick paper, letting it flutter to the ground. A breath caught in her throat when she saw the elegant, black case. "Obi you…" She flipped the lid up. "Shouldn't have." 

The homemade jewelry piece was coiled up inside. The Padawan lifted it, examining the color and style.

Obi-Wan waited, motionless as stone.

Mejant looked up at him, and flashed the widest, genuine smile he had ever seen. "It's gorgeous, Obi. I love it."

"Really?"

She pulled him into an embrace. "Yeah. It's so pretty." She said against his shoulder.

Obi-Wan held her close, the awkwardness of a smitten teenager nonexistent in his graceful show of affection. "I'm really glad you like it. It took me hours. Master Qui-Gon helped…" He hesitated. "A lot."

Mejant laughed.

He placed the gift around her neck, brushing his hands on her cheeks. 

"Happy birthday." Obi-Wan murmured, and kissed her tenderly, for a lingering moment, on the lips.

She knew from that day, she would never want to be kissed by another.

And she wasn't.

Mejant threw the covers aside, and traipsed to the window. She gazed into the far distance, and wondered if fate was truly as cruel as some said.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Theed Plaza was the epitome of Naboo style: striking extravagance mixed with natural beauty.

Padme smiled absently as she glanced around while guiding her Jedi companions. "This is one of the oldest structures on the entire planet. Great figures in our history have stayed in this very hotel." 

They passed a stone fountain of a woman, holding a bundle of gold. Water streamed across her solid feet. 

Anakin placed his hand on the Senator's arm. "What's that?"

Her brown eyes glittered solemnly, respectfully. "That's Nerollia. A group of merchants refused to donate pieces of their abundant gold to help the poor. She was just a middle-class woman, passing by, who happened to overhear. She grew so outraged at their greed that she grabbed their gold, and flung it into the nearby river." She stared up at the monument. "It is said that the Naboo rivers sparkle because of her compassionate actions."

Anakin smiled, nodding. But inside, he was confused by the tale. _Why didn't the poor simply work to earn their own gold? Why should the merchants be forced to give up their belongings?_

Qui-Gon studied the surroundings. Expensive, stone pillars bracketed the check-in desk. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, with tear-drop diamonds dangling from the ends. Vines of gorgeous, satiny blooms lined the walls.

He nearly commented on the loveliness, but, realizing Obi-Wan might feel isolated by his visual impairment, remained silent.

They traveled to the lift. An attendant greeted them politely, and the trio, along with a protective Siron-7, entered.

When the doors began to close, a family, dressed lavishly, hurried to fit in.

The Jedi Master instinctively pulled Obi-Wan beside him, to allow others room.

Padme and Anakin stepped back against a corner. The mother, father and three children crowded the middle.

The apprentice glanced at his mentor, face shaded. Padme noticed at once.

She cleared her throat. "So Ani, you must be exhausted. How was your trip?"

Anakin slowly turned back to her, his frown disappearing. "Fine. …Great. The accommodations were wonderful. You are very…" He gazed deeply into her eyes. "Thoughtful."

Padme's face was frozen, as if entranced. 

They looked at each other. The sound in the elevator seemed to have been swallowed up. 

"Here we are. Level fifteen." The man announced, shattering the still moment.

Padme blinked, then shook her head. She swallowed hard, grappling for composure. "Good." She said, and walked into the hallway.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The Jedi sat their packs on a smooth wood table. Anakin surveyed the room, jaw slack. "Padme, this is just…I mean, it's so…_wow._"

Padme giggled. "I thought you would like it." She folded her hands behind her, waiting as the Padawan continued to gawk.

Qui-Gon gave the place a quick once-over, then bowed to the Senator. "These quarters are phenomenal, Milady. You have our gratitude. Though we may feel a bit out of place, surrounding by such luxury."

She grinned. "Nonsense, Master Jedi."

The main room was large, with heavily draped windows, and huge works of art mounted to the gold-stained walls. Stylish black furniture littered the space. The floor was velvet, caramel colored, and sinfully soft. 

Obi-Wan inhaled. A sweet, floral scent swept into his lungs. He was sorely thankful for the cool temperature, as tiny beads of sweat descended his forehead. From the jubilant reactions, the features must have been breathtaking. 

His joints burned. The base of his neck throbbed. _I wonder what the bed is like…_

Padme began to step back towards the door. "Room services are available all hours. If you need a snack, or a robe, or a new big screen holo player, just ask. Everything's on my account."

Anakin frowned. His heart dropped. "You're leaving? Already?"

She offered him a regretful, semi-weary look. "You need your rest. Much work is to be done, Ani."

"Well, I could walk you to the front." He said hastily. "It's the least I can do for you, Padme."

The Senator smiled, glancing at Qui-Gon, who seemed hesitant.

But then the Master nodded. "That's fine, Padawan. Escort Senator Amidala to her vehicle." He bowed once more. "I look forward to receiving you and Miss Zimn's reports on this case."

"They will be hand-delivered by an assistant as soon as I am able." She headed for the exit. "Good night, Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi."

"Good night, Milady." The two Jedi replied, and their voices seemed to meld together, so that a single, refined sound responded.

Anakin eagerly slipped his arm around hers, and together the youths left the hotel room.

Qui-Gon stood, staring at the spot they had once occupied, forehead crinkled. Suddenly, he was uneasy.

Obi-Wan sensed his chance for a clean escape to his private quarters, and shouldered his pack.

Immediately Silon-7 chirped sharply, rolling up beside him. "Where-is-your-desired-destination-Obi-Wan-Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan kneaded his temple, teeth grit. "A droid disposal center." He muttered.

Qui-Gon put a hand over his mouth to stifle his amused chuckle.

"That-does-not-compute. I-am-sorry. Where-is-your-desired-destination-Obi-Wan-Kenobi?"

The Knight sighed heavily. "The nearest bed."

"According-to-the-information-stored-in-my-database-by-Senator-Amidala-the-bed-in-closest-proximity-to-Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-thirty-feet-south-and-twenty-nine-point-three-feet-northeast."

Obi-Wan was taking the first careful step when he felt a pressure on his shoulder. "I'm _very, very_ tired, Master Jinn. I'll argue with you tomorrow." He tried to move, but a strong hand captured his upper arm.

"You're still sick, Obi-Wan. Considerably sick."

"And?"

"And?" Qui-Gon huffed incredulously. "You need antibiotics!"

Obi-Wan's mouth was a straight line. "Or a healing trance?"

That stung. Qui-Gon faltered a moment, the words fumbling in his mind. "I----I already apologized for that."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "That doesn't excuse it." He whispered tensely. 

The older man enclosed the other arm in his gentle grasp. "I know how that must have hurt."

"Do you?" The fresh pain beat in the quiet tone. 

"No." Qui-Gon looked away from that haunting face for a split second, overwhelmed with shame. "But, as I have explained, it was necessary. You could have worsened."

Obi-Wan blinked against the press of hot tears. "Why would _you_ care?"

"Why?" Qui-Gon snorted. "Isn't it obvious?"

"_No._"

"Because, Obi-Wan, I love you. I've loved you since the day I watched over you on _The Monument_, and you opened your eyes, " He stroked the healed skin around them, "And you looked up at me. I fought the love then. You fight it now. But that doesn't mean it's ever been truly, completely gone. You're my _son_, Obi. You can disown my all you want, you can deny it until you're hoarse, but it will not change that single, benevolent fact. "

Obi-Wan's throat tightened around the rising sobs. The man had just spoken what he had waited to hear since he was a lonely, insecure child. He lived so long as a solitary figure, mourning something lost, that had never belonged to him to begin with. To discover that, apparently, he had been loved dearly all along, was too much to take. "Our friendship was a lie. I won't believe these false declarations, Master Jinn. I have accepted what destiny has planned for me." He coughed hard. "Now, you must accept what is planned for you. And if those paths have intersected in the past---It was sheer, grim coincidence."

Qui-Gon ran his palms over the ginger strands. "You're scared to forgive, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan pushed the touch away. "And you smell like liquor." He spat, then stormed down the hall, feeling for the first opening. He ignored the wet warmth coursing down his cheeks. 

__

I don't believe him. I don't believe a word. Not a word.

The door sealed behind him. He crashed to his knees, dissolving in tears.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"It's so strange."

Anakin looked at the Senator, puzzled by her contemplative expression, but his affection always obvious. "What is?"

Padme shrugged. "I don't know." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I guess it's just…been so long, you know? Ten years is a lot, Ani."

"Yeah. So?"

"So?" She mocked, laughing. "So we haven't seen each other for an entire decade, and now here we are, acting as if we've spent every day together. I don't know…I just expected it to be awkward."

"I _have_ seen you every day, Padme."

She glanced at him, eyebrow slanted. "What?"

He stopped in the corridor, eyes growing very still. It took incredible strength not to caress her soft, perfect face. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you."

She gazed up at him, silent. Then, she broke into high chuckles. 

Anakin frowned. His hands went to his hips. "What's so funny about that?"

She held up a hand while continuing to laugh, bent slightly over. "It's nothing…It's just…."

"It's just what?"

Padme regained control, only a ghost of a smile on her amused visage. "It's just that you sound like one of those desperately in love, hair whipping in the wind…men from romance holos."

"No I don't." He negated rather indignantly. They began walking again.

After a moment, Anakin looked at her. "What's wrong with that? I thought women…went for that stuff."

"Maybe some of them do. I'm not a mooning sort of girl, Anakin. I don't need the aggravation. Honesty is what I look for."

He touched her hand. "I _was_ being honest."

Now it was her turn to halt in her steps. The Senator smiled, bewildered and surprised. "What are you---What are you talking about, Ani?"

He swallowed, then loosely held her wrists between his fingers. "I was trying to tell you that I think about you more than-more than anything. You brighten my dreams. You chase my darkness away. And when I'm lonely, I only have to think of you. Then I smile."

She slipped from his hold. "Anakin, you don't know what you're saying." She shook her head, tone serious. "I told you. We haven't seen each other in ten years. You were a little child, _I _was a child myself. We met, and spent a very short time together. We don't know each other at all. Not really."

"But Padme, " He persisted. "I don't care about that. If it was just a chance meeting, then why would I be unable to rid you from my mind? It's more than what you say it is. I KNOW it is."

Annoyance flickered in her eyes. "How? How do you know, Ani? Do you know what my favorite flavor of ice cream is? Do you know what holo programs I watch? Or my mother's name?"

He sighed. "No. But I _want_ to know. I want us to know each other deeply, Padme. Then maybe you can see what I have all along."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And what's that?"

"That we were meant to be together."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon sat heavily on the glossy sofa and leaned back, shutting his eyes.

  
It was during these times that he missed Tahl the most, when his need for her sharpened, and impaled his heart. 

She never allowed bad situations to escalate to the point of such aching pain and frustration. She met difficulties with a steady resolve…and a beautiful spirit. Tahl would never idle in the current problem. She understood that waiting only wore away at a wound, and true healing slipped farther from your hands.

She would rush into Obi-Wan's room right now, with a gentle grace, and carefully, _perfectly_ handle his emotion. She wouldn't take his abrupt departures lightly. She would confront him in such a method that he couldn't run. 

A rueful smile crossed his face. _She was always better than me…At everything._

Even after her blinding, she was flushed with the vibrancy of life. She overcame her initial discomfort, and learned that asking for small aids was _not_ the end of the Universe---she only needed time to discover that.

Losing the ability to gaze upon surroundings once familiar to you, being unable to watch a sunset spread liquid gold across the horizon or see the glow of love in someone's eyes, had to be beyond devastating. 

She knew it still existed around her. And, in her own way, she would experience those sensations again. Tahl, in the horrible, premature end, was the same radiant woman, seasoned Jedi, and devoted companion.

__

Yes. Qui-Gon turned his head toward Obi-Wan's closed door. _Time._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan pressed his forehead to his palms, and the blistering heat that met his soft flesh was pooled over by copious, warm tears.

His head pounded with every harsh sob. He was kneeling on the ground, his ill, feverish body shaking so intensely his teeth began to rattle.

The congestion was building fast in his chest and draining into his throat. There was barely enough clear passage for him to cry.

And oh, how he wanted to cry. Those things Qui-Gon spoke of with such a free, certain air…They could not have been honest. Those words had been too intense, for they betrayed every belief sewn into his soul. It hurt, badly, to have the bitter threads pulled. 

Especially when the only family he knew was behind the rough tugging.

__

No. He shook his head miserably, panting. Damp hair clung to his face. _Not my family. I DON'T think that anymore._

Still, it was terribly difficult to lie to yourself, and banish the knowledge that was, at the barest level, the base of your entire existence.

His hands clenched into clammy fists. Exhaustion hovered above him.

Then, he realized.

He had been tired, unspeakably weary, for too long.

And perhaps, it was right to leave the pride behind.

He lifted his head, gathered a breath, and stood. Immediately, he was dizzy.

But it felt good to be standing.

A Jedi was not meant to stumble. A man was not meant to crawl.

His hand touched the smooth steel of the door. It slid open, and the rush of cool air, he decided, felt wonderful.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Stars, nestled in the velvet black of the Naboo sky, twinkled. Senator Amidala gazed up at them, the scene reflected in her eyes. "Stars are dead. When we see them shining so brightly …" She shook her head. "They're already gone."

Anakin shrugged. "I never thought of that. Kinda sad."

She considered this a moment, walking close to him, arms folded to stave off the cold. Then, she shook her head. "I don't think so. When you're gone, wouldn't you want a lasting mark?"

The moonlight bathed his face in jaundiced light. "You mean an empire?"

She chuckled. "No. Like an echo, maybe."

For maybe the hundredth time since landing on this lush planet, Anakin delved far into her Force spirit. While she was not sensitive to that unifying entity, she still possessed a presence, that glided through his own mind as if it were soothing silk. His heart was welled with emotion for this girl---woman. "You're amazing, Padme."

She looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed, almost assessing the statement. Slowly, she smiled. "And you're heavy on flattery, aren't you?"

"No." He said, in a lusty, smoky tone. "Just with you."

She couldn't help the blush that left her cheeks the shade of a rose. "You know, Ani, we passed my cloud car ten minutes ago."

He turned to her, and a huge grin split his face. "I know."

She rolled her eyes. "I've been abducted."

The Jedi laughed. "That's right." 

They traveled by various shops. Padme stopped at a window displaying pieces of silver jewelry, and laid her hands on the glass, admiring the collection.

Anakin stood at her shoulder, debating whether she would take offense if he placed his hands over hers.

"Oh, Ani. Just _look_ at that!" She gasped, fingers slapping over her mouth before he could experiment. "It's so beautiful."

She pointed to a ring. The band was formed by intricate diamond swirls, with an oval ruby mounted in the center.

Padme exhaled, and took to the path again. "It reminds me of a ring my mother wore."

"_Really_?" He commented slyly. "Your mother? May I ask what her name is?"

The Senator giggled. Her black dress swept against the ground. "Juneva Naberrie."

"And your father?"

"My father was a mad scientist. He blew himself up in a chemical explosion."

Anakin choked. "Padme! I'm so sorry."

She nodded. Grief gleamed in her eyes. "Yes. It's tragic, isn't it?" She smirked. "We keep his head in a clear tube on the kitchen table."

They were both silent before erupting in laughter. 

Anakin wiped a tear from his eye, attempting to recover. "S-So? What's his name?"

"Rubenn Naberrie. I have sisters, but I don't want to talk about them."

Anakin quirked his mouth. "Why not?"

"Because---this is going to sound childish, but--they're brats. That was the only good thing about leaving home. Nobody swiping your blouse from your closet without asking."

He smiled. "Well, I'm sorry to touch on a sore subject, but did you and your sisters ever go out for ice cream?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon's head popped up when he heard the door slide open.

Obi-Wan stood there, leaning against the wall. The Master could see dried tracks of tears on his cheeks. The sick Knight was trembling, and his sandy tunic clung to him. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, and winced at the pain. "M---Master…Jinn?"

Qui-Gon rose from the sofa. He approached his former apprentice, a cold stone thrown into the pit of his belly. "Yes, Obi-Wan?" He asked gently.

Guardedly, Obi-Wan took a step forward.

Despite an absence of use, Qui-Gon caught the paleness in cerulean eyes. He reached out to steady him.

The younger man swallowed. "I-I think I need…some medicine."

Then, cleanly, without so much as a snapping sound to alert him, Obi-Wan's knees buckled.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~


	5. Yesterday

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Five: Yesterday

Yesterday, 

All my troubles seemed so far away

Now it looks as though they're here to stay

Oh I believe,

In yesterday. ---_The Beatles_

You sure have changed since yesterday

Without any warning

I thought I knew you

I thought I knew you

I thought I knew you

So well. ---_No Doubt_

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Ileana sat in the main room, feeling the cold touch of circulated air against her bare arms. Tika and Liram had flopped down on the off-white shag rug, Tika's head nestled against Liram's neck, asleep.

She watched them breath slowly, in and out, perfectly tuned with each other. 

She smiled, though her mouth remained tightly pursed. And, though she didn't quite know why, hot moisture began to run down her rouged cheeks.

She shuddered, and crossed her arms, rocking. A raw ache was stirred in her chest.

In her heart. Solitary for so long, beating without accompaniment.

__

Just me. Fine wrinkles streaked from the edges of her emerald eyes. The woman forced herself to take a deep breath. _That's fine. That's fine._

It had been her philosophy, once. As a young girl, intelligent and extremely, perhaps unusually focused. She wanted to be a journalist. Sometimes, though she never would admit it to another soul, she had carried a small holorecorder in her purse---in case breaking news were to occur right in front of her.

Of course, it never did. But it would someday. She repeated the belief in her mind, and refused to consider a lesser profession. She knew about her former friends with big dreams…and attentive eyes. Even when they longed for a career, they were watchful of men. And eventually, they married, settling for household duties.

Ileana pitied them. She would have money, and respect, and a rich, full life.

She didn't need love.

Until she met Berrel, and he grinned at her, a handsome, well-dressed man.

Men had smiled at her before, but this was different. _He _was different.

She was a woman with him, not a girl that just babbled about reporting, wary of intentions.

Barris _loved_ her in that unique, rare way that was imitated in the romance holos she despised…but didn't mind peeking at once in awhile. 

So he kissed her hand, and bought her dinner. She forgot about high-paying jobs, her thoughts suddenly consumed by marriage and the possibility of children.

__

I wanted to have two. A girl and a boy. She took a long drink of crimson wine, sealing her eyes against the press of the bare, blinding white room.

__

I won't have any now. I'm ruined. This is what I will be. This is how I will die. 

Alone, on a sofa, clutching a goblet.

Ileana inhaled shakily, setting the glass down. She straightened her dress, and smoothed her fiery hair with her hands.

__

I'm ruined for everyone…because of him.

He is all I can possibly have.

The slumbering dogs were startled awake by the sound of fast footsteps. By the time they trotted to the door, Ileana was gone.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Obi-Wan!"

Qui-Gon shot his arms out to catch the man before he could crash to the ground.

Obi-Wan clutched at the Master's tunic, coughing violently, gasping for air.

A calm hand flattened against the rebellious chest, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, denying the strangled cries his attention. 

Kneeling on the floor, the hacking form going limp in his hold, Qui-Gon sent healing waves through the closing pathways, willing air to travel through the constricted pipes. 

Obi-Wan's boots raked against the carpet as he struggled to receive a precious breath. The presence gently entering his mind hushed him, assuring him that all would be well. 

But the black before him was no comfort, and panic shot through him.

Qui-Gon sensed his lungs clear, and released a relieved sigh. He gathered Obi-Wan in his arms, standing.

Sweat glistened on the Knight's forehead. He rested his head in the space between Qui-Gon's chest and arm, panting.

"Are you alright?" Warmth brushed against his cheek.

"Yes." He managed, feeling a little detached and light.

"You shouldn't have done this." Qui-Gon said stiffly, laying him on the couch, and piling pillows beneath his head. Anger and fear tightened his voice. "You should have told someone the moment you began feeling ill. You should not have come on this mission."

Obi-Wan felt a blanket drape over him. "I--I thought I could handle it." He croaked.

Qui-Gon shook his head, sitting beside him, propping his elbows on his knees. "You shouldn't risk yourself trying to be independent. Everyone needs help sometimes."

"You helped me." He whispered, almost to himself.

At that moment the front door was pried open.

Qui-Gon wheeled around, hand going to his saber.

An older man, tall, slender, and carrying a slick silver case, stood. 

Obi-Wan shivered, nearly heaving again.

Qui-Gon moved in front of him protectively. His fingers gripped the weapon's hilt. "Who are you?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme's cheeks and nose had bloomed a bright red in the cold. Anakin's robe was hanging off her small shoulders; she tugged it closer as a breeze rippled. "Ani, I should really get back. This case isn't going to be solved by me wandering the streets with you."

Anakin's disappointment was written clearly on his features. "Okay. I understand."

They walked toward the direction of the cloud car.

"You know, Padme, usually, when someone's been kidnapped, there's a ransom to get them back. And you _did_ say I abducted you tonight."

Padme laughed. "So, what's the ransom, Ani?"

He listened to that sweet, cloying sound, and warmth flooded his heart. He didn't care what she had told him, what his Master would mostly likely tell him when he returned. He knew what they chose to shield themselves from realizing. He loved her. "A kiss."  
  
Padme stopped. The delight he hoped to find on her beautiful face was nonexistent. Instead, she seemed embarrassed, and a tad frustrated. "Ani," She said softly, "I'm not going to kiss you. Not tonight. Not this soon."

Anakin frowned. A sharp pain tore into his chest. "Why?"

The Senator sighed. "You've been on Naboo less than a day, Ani. We've only been reacquainted. We're not ready for any big steps. You're not ready."

"Padme, every moment we're not together is a moment we've lost."

"Why? Why have we lost it?" The question bordered on a demand.

Anakin gazed at her. "Because we're going to be together. I know it, Padme."

"Anakin, we're different. I'm a Senator, you're a Jedi. Those are obligations we chose to accept. Now we must fulfill those to the very best of our abilities. We can be friends, yes, and I would value that. But nothing more." She informed him gently, handing him his robe.

He didn't move to take it. "My Master was married, you know. And then his wife died."

Padme looked at him compassionately. "Was she a Jedi as well?"

"That doesn't matter. He was a Jedi, and he loved. Besides, last time I checked, there weren't rules prohibiting senators from love." He shot back defensively.

Padme's eyes were wide. "I don't have to listen to this. It isn't a debate. I've made my decision, before any complications can arise. Can't you respect that? Can't you respect _me_?"

Anakin stared at her a moment, a strong longing flaring in him. Then, he smiled thinly. "Yes, Padme. I can."

"Good."

They journeyed the rest of the way to the car, and the driver stood, opening the door for her.

She went to sit, but remembered the cloak in her hands. "Here, Ani." She held it out.

Anakin shook his head. "Keep it. " He began to walk away.

"Ani!" Padme called out.

He turned. 

"Thank you for walking me." She smiled genuinely at him. "And I'll contact your room once the reports have been sent."

"Okay."

He watched her depart, the wind buffeting his long tunic sleeves.

The moonlight gleamed strangely in his eyes. 

They were darker.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The man stepped back, raising his free hand. "Whoa there."

Qui-Gon probed the stranger's Force signature, and amid the weak presence discovered nothing remotely sinister. "Who are you?" He asked again.

"Dr. Pendermill, the hotel physician."

Qui-Gon removed his grip from the lightsaber, frowning. "How did you know to come here?"

Slowly, the doctor relaxed. "A droid came running, or I should say rolling, into my office. It said it was sent by Senator Amidala to assist an," He paused, fumbling in his case, finding a crumpled piece of paper, "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Qui-Gon shook the man's head. "Yes, I'm sorry. He is very ill. He was losing consciousness, and couldn't breath, I didn't notice the droid leave."

"Ah, I understand." He noticed the sweaty young man huddled on the sofa. He pulled a holopad from the case. "How did you prevent him from losing consciousness, Mr…"

"_Master _Jinn."

"Oh, Master? You must be the Jedi then."

"Yes."

The doctor smiled, walking to Obi-Wan, and sitting on an ottoman. 

Qui-Gon followed him. "This may be a bit difficult to explain, but I reached into his body, through the, uh, Force, and cleared his airways."

"Fascinating. I've read of such techniques. You Jedi should go into private practice. You'd make a bundle." He cleaned the shiny end of his stethoscope. "But then, of course, we regular physicians would be out of business." He chuckled as he loosened Obi-Wan's tunic, and pressed the cold instrument against his chest. He listened.

Qui-Gon waited, uneasy, eyes fastened to his ex-Padawan's face.

"The heartbeat is good. No trouble there." He lifted his head to look at Obi-Wan. "Now, I want you to breathe in as deep as you can when I say to, alright?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

Pendermill positioned the probe. "Okay, Obi-Wan. Now."

Obi-Wan breathed in, until there was resistance, and he coughed, his weakened frame wracked with fierce hacking.

The doctor waited for him to recover, then repeated it a few times, expression grave. "That doesn't sound good. What were his other symptoms, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon studied the Knight pensively. "Well, on the transport here, a day ago, he collapsed in his quarters. He had a sore throat, fever, chills…"

Pendermill nodded. "This is an infection, not viral. Not yet, anyway. Antibiotics should knock it out rather quickly." He settled the blankets around his patient's waist, and felt his forehead. "His fever should also be broken. I'm going to send out for the medication immediately. In the mean time, " He gave Qui-Gon a small, round container, "This needs to be rubbed on his chest. The vapors will help his respiration. If you want that kind that smells like Bangi berry, you'll have to go down to the pharmacy." He grinned, standing. "We only carry the good old plain stuff."

Qui-Gon walked him to the door. "Thank you, doctor."

Obi-Wan heard it close. "That d-d-droid's always u-up to s--something, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Like saving your behind, you mean?"

Obi-Wan flushed. "Yeah." He said hoarsely, the exhaustion weighing heavy on his limbs and his mind. 

Qui-Gon sat beside him and unscrewed the lid to the medication. The smell that wafted up was medicinal…and awful. He grimaced. "How far is the pharmacy?"

The Knight didn't respond, pallor going a shade paler. 

Qui-Gon sobered, and carefully wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's back, lifting him upright to pull off his tunic. He eased him back down, choosing to overlook the prominent ribcage.

The heat of the slender body disturbed him, he was suddenly anxious for the prescriptions to arrive. This was, essentially, out of his control. THAT frightened him to no end. He scooped the greasy, off-white gel onto his curved fingers, then spread it across Obi-Wan's chest.

Obi-Wan coughed lightly, head rolling to rest against the back cushion. 

The substance left his skin waxy, and it shined in the dim illumination.

"Just a bit more." Qui-Gon murmured, hands that could be unyielding and coarse were mild and comforting. Obi-Wan shouldn't have been surprised, for he had been under this man's care for over a decade, during which he suffered more than his share of ailments. But, after these long, difficult years, he had forgotten. 

Or, maybe, forced himself to forget.

The complexities of the situation died in his thoughts, as he surrendered to the lulling ministrations. 

When the last of it was rubbed into his chest, Qui-Gon rose, gazing down at the dozing Obi-Wan. He smiled, until a disenchanting pall rose in him, reminding him that things were, forever, changed. After Obi-Wan recovered, he would not accompany Qui-Gon to Dex's for their traditional (always complimentary, despite Qui-Gon's protests) 'well again' sundae. He wouldn't join in meditation, or spars, or a simple walk in the Gardens.

When he was 'well again', Obi-Wan would still be the solitary Knight, and Qui-Gon would still be the Master to Anakin Skywalker.

Tonight was just a painful glimpse at a past closed to him.

If they had ever been a family before, they weren't anymore.

Yet, at this moment, it was fine to pretend.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

Anakin trudged beside Qui-Gon, rolling his eyes frequently, restless.

Qui-Gon noticed, but dismissed it as a childish habit only truly broken with the coming of maturity. Sometimes, he mused, not even then. "Padawan?"

Anakin looked up, and Qui-Gon was a bit shocked to see the mandatory spiked haircut, instead of the long, mussed blonde locks. He couldn't help but smile at the boy. "You waste energy that way."

"What way, Master?"

Qui-Gon patted his shoulder. "Sighing, looking around every two seconds, drumming your fingers in your tunic sleeves. Jedi are to be calm, my young apprentice. Let serenity flow through you."

He smiled in turn, tiny freckles spotting his small cheeks. "Okay, Master…"

"Okay." 

"Um…Master Qui-Gon?"

He gazed down at Anakin. "Yes?"

"What's serenity?"

Qui-Gon laughed, and for a moment, Anakin thought the brawny man was laughing AT him. He flushed, nibbling on his lip.

"Serenity is a large word for any child to know. It means quiet and happy."

"Oh." Anakin grinned. His sapphire eyes twinkled. "Thanks."

Qui-Gon ruffled his sandy hair. " You learn a bit everyday, whether you are aware or not. Wisdom isn't something you're born with. You gather it over time. One day, you will be very wise, I am sure, Ani."

The encouraging, loving words reminded Anakin of his mother, and his heart swelled with sorrow and gratitude. He abruptly launched himself into Qui-Gon's arms, wrapping his own short pair around his mentor, pressing his cheek against a bearded one. 

Qui-Gon embraced him tightly, the fledgling Padawan braid brushing against his skin. "You are a gift from the Force." He whispered.

Anakin heard, and his love for Qui-Gon grew.

He wouldn't see his mother for awhile, he knew, and his Master could never be her substitute. But Qui-Gon was all he had on this world. He would hold onto him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

In the end, he _did_ respect Padme's wishes. He would be elated, of course, if she pressed those full, ruby lips against his, if her velvet touch caressed him.

But girls had thrown themselves at Anakin often enough. 

Maybe a chase would be exhilarating. Especially when he thought of the prize. Padme Amidala, the most beautiful, intelligent, _perfect_ woman in the Universe would be his…soon.

Besides, he was sick of things being handed to him. He excelled in every subject, save psychology, but that was a bunch of junk, wasn't it? Theories that supposedly explained the anatomy of the mind---he didn't much care to know the reasoning behind others' thoughts. They weren't important. So why learn about them? The only angle he needed to study was thought persuasion.

And that came naturally to him.

His lightsaber was an extension of his body. He smiled inwardly, remembering the envy flushing fellow Padawan's faces as he sparred in the gym, noticing their awe at his unsurpassed talents.

He heard whispers, sometimes, that spoke differently.

A few Jedi, in hushed voices, said his style was overly aggressive, that anger and conceit fueled him, instead of the pure Force.

Then they would reminisce about another Jedi, who moved so fluidly and gracefully that his body seemed boneless. The content focus always etched into his handsome visage.

Yes, some said Obi-Wan Kenobi was better than him.

Anakin would scoff, and just fight harder, letting the rage and jealousy beat in him. He was still good. He was still Jedi. 

He merely had a secret weapon.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon read the label of the medication, delivered by Siron 7, who rushed into the room in a fluster, spouting off Obi-Wan's vitals, as well as the chemical make-up of the substance coating his chest. 

The Master quickly deactivated him, but his loud string of monotone words had already awakened Obi-Wan. 

The Knight rubbed at his face, shifting beneath the crisp sheets, the scent of the cream heavy in his nostrils. He sensed Qui-Gon near-by, for the Master's Force presence was now more vibrant in Obi-Wan's psyche. The brilliance of his ex-teacher's aura was incredibly familiar, and, he could admit to himself, comforting. 

It was strange not to wake to silence.

Of course, coming to consciousness with your ears aching from an annoying bot's ramblings wasn't as soothing. The rich baritone he heard rumble some distance away, however, was.

And Obi-Wan wasn't sure how he felt about this new relationship.

__

It's not really new, though. 

After twenty years, it can't be.

He pushed himself to a sitting position, supported by pillows, folding his hands on his stomach. A palm rested lightly on his forehead, and he was flooded by a thousand yesterdays, that weren't tainted with betrayal and resentment. 

__

No, it can never be new between us.

Just fresh.

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, oblivious to the cold sweat sheen on his skin, the heat radiating in his body, the pain flaring in his head. 

Qui-Gon unscrewed the lid, pouring the dosage into the attached sterile cup. His eyes kept drifting to Obi-Wan's pale, waxen face, as he began to notice the subtle change there. To anyone else, he would still have appeared to be the same brooding, hurt, _weak_ man, drained of a beautiful spirit, left to suffer as a shell. 

Qui-Gon couldn't blame them for the mistake. For so very long, Obi-Wan had been just that. Except, that resplendent soul was not gone, or even diminished. Only dormant, lying in the depths of the wounded Jedi, waiting.

It had always been Obi-Wan's way. He would not push. He would allow his despair to surge within himself, would take what was unbearable, until his companion was ready.

Qui-Gon knew now. Obi-Wan had waited too long.

He lifted the feverish head slightly. "Here, drink this." And steadily streamed the medicine into Obi-Wan's mouth.

Obi-Wan drank, his glassy eyes gleaming with malady, his hair clinging to his face.

Then Qui-Gon settled him down on the cushions again and smoothed the blankets over him. For a moment he simply sat, watching him, remembering gentler times, where the shadow of sin couldn't eclipse their friendship. He sorely wished the darkness would go from them, would leave Obi-Wan to his natural light.

"I--I feel like a Bantha trampled me." Obi-Wan remarked miserably, coughing into his hand. "Make that two."

Qui-Gon smiled, reaching out hesitantly, then stroked his cheek.

At first, Obi-Wan wanted to pull away from the touch, return to the security of being alone. He stopped himself, knowing his true need right now was NOT an empty room. "Th-This is l-l-like on Tameroo."

"DON'T remind me."

Obi-Wan chuckled, and the sound was as rare and lovely as the violet shrew's morning song. Both, Qui-Gon feared, were in danger of disappearing. "Oh, c-come on, Qui----Master Jinn, it wasn't th-that bad."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Qui-Gon grumbled playfully. "I just couldn't eat for a week."

Obi-Wan frowned. "But I-I was the one who w--was sick."

"Yes, all over my tunic. That sort of thing tends to spoil one's appetite."

The Knight laughed hoarsely, grasping the blanket to lessen the pain. "Well, y-you shouldn't have been in the w-w-way."

Qui-Gon flinched at Obi-Wan's attempt to conceal his pain. He ran his fingers through the moist hair. "Yes, well I got revenge on you, if you remember. When I broke my leg?"

Obi-Wan groaned. "For your reputation as an invincible maverick, you sure acted like a sniveling initiate, Master…Jinn."

"But you were a perfect nursemaid." Qui-Gon teased.

"I can't argue with that. I even baked you my famous cookies." He grinned.

Qui-Gon was pleased that his voice was sounding a bit stronger. "Those were famous because nobody could get them down, Obi-Wan. They were poisoned chocolate rocks."

Obi-Wan flushed, trying hard not to giggle, perspiration trickling down his face. "They _weren't_ poisoned."

"Hmm. Strange. They just tasted like it then."

"YOU must have bad taste. Mejant and Bant loved them. They even took the rest home."

"Because I begged them to." Qui-Gon informed him, continuing to brush his fingertips across Obi-Wan's face, avoiding looking into those once-luminous, dead eyes. 

Gradually, the conversation grew softer, until the sickly man's breathing had slowed, sooty lashes lain against his skin. 

The moon's light bled through the closed curtains, bathing his face and chest in its glow.

Qui-Gon leaned forward, and barely kissed Obi-Wan's forehead, bracing his warm temples with massive, callused hands.

Then he gingerly slid one of the pillows from beneath the slumbering Knight, and stretched out on the oversized ottoman.

He lay there, completely awake, listening to the quiet of midnight, and Obi-Wan's snores.

For a heartbeat, he was truly happy.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Ileana wiped at her eyes, smudging the make-up further, tears mingling with fading foundation. Her hair was wilted, strands of scarlet straying into her vision.

She whimpered, angrily shoving them behind her ear. Her high-heeled shoes clacked against the floor and slowed her gait to an awkward trot.

"Forget it!" She cried out raggedly, ripping the blasted things from her feet and flinging them into the street. Then she began to run, ignoring how the hosiery was caught on the uneven gravel and tore.

She clutched the handle of the bag hoisted over her shoulder, and tightened her painted lips to keep the sobs at bay.

The cold of night bit at her exposed skin, chilled her nose, her face looking red and pinched.

A few passers turned to watch her, confused by her desperate, unkempt aura, in this planet of peace and serene beauty. 

Ileana didn't care, not at this point, as she traveled the emptying blocks, beneath a dark, star-speckled canvas.

She ran until she came to the small, dilapidated house, with the gray, aged shingles, and the door, with the peeling shaves of wood.

Ileana smiled, panting, her feet aching and her body frozen.

__

I'm here my love.

She eagerly slipped the key from her slim skirt pocket.

Moisture trickled from her weary eyes.

__

I'm here.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stood seamlessly from the ottoman when he sensed Anakin's arrival.

The Padawan stood in the doorway, his eyes ringed by shadow, an expression across his face that was decidedly unsettling.

"What's wrong with him now?" Anakin said flatly, glancing at Kenobi, who was sleeping deeply now, sweaty body pressed in the curve of the couch. He looked at his Master, something that could have been hurt, but bordered nearly on annoyance, stirred in his dim blue eyes.

Qui-Gon was simply too tired to address the caustic tone of the inquiry. "He is _still_ ill, Anakin." He paused, registering the evolution from twilight dusk to pure black in the Naboo sky from the window. "And it certainly took you a long time to escort the Senator to her vehicle." He raised a chestnut-gray eyebrow.

Anakin's gaze darted to the floor, he trailed his finger along a near-by chair. "She just wanted to---talk, Master."

Qui-Gon recognized the defensive pout, bringing to mind past years, when that innocence twinkled in Anakin Skywalker's eyes. It may have been difficult to find beneath the guise of manhood, but Anakin was still the little, grimy slave boy from Tatooine, the child of thankless giving and sweet heart. He smiled. "That's fine, Ani. I'm sure the Senator's been under terrible pressure due to this investigation. She deserves some free time to enjoy an old friend's company."

Anakin studied him a moment, then grinned. "Yeah---She has a hidden side I've never seen before."

Qui-Gon frowned. "What?" He asked cautiously.

Anakin laughed softly. "Nothing…bad, Master. She's just very funny. I didn't know how funny she was."

"Oh." Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, visibly relieved. "Well, that _is_ a pleasant surprise."

Anakin pulled off his boots, yawning. "She said she would call when the documents were on their way." He stole a look at Kenobi over Qui-Gon's shoulder, and felt an angry heat burn at the base of his neck.

Qui-Gon's comment brought him back. "The hotel is breathtaking, isn't it?"

"Mmmhmmm." The apprentice agreed, munching on a juicy Muja fruit from a woven basket. 

Qui-Gon smiled widely at that, chuckling to himself.

Anakin wrinkled his brow. "What?"

"It's nothing, it's just…" His eyes narrowed with good natured humor. "All my apprentices tend to pick a Muja. I've always detested them."

"Your apprentices?"

Qui-Gon laughed again. "No, the fruit. You would probably devour them whole if not for your manners, and Obi-Wan would kill you if he knew you were taking the only one. No probably about it."

Anakin forced a smile, but he was sickened inside. _Does he REALLY need to talk about him? It's bad enough I have to be in the same room with him._

Then, Obi-Wan coughed, stirring, rustling the sheets.

__

Speak of the Sith..

Qui-Gon moved briskly to his side, and elevated his head. "It's alright." He murmured, before looking up at Anakin. "The hotel physician left some throat spray while you were gone, I'm going to get it. Stay with him."

Anakin nodded. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon jogged into the hallway, hoping he was mistaken, that Anakin wasn't as sullen as he sounded.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel ran to Ileana, who was standing in the doorway, feet bleeding, barely able to contain her sobs.

"Baby!" He exclaimed softly, capturing her shivering form in his muscular arms.

She laid her head against his chest, sealing her eyes, more tears sliding from the thick lashes. "Oh my love." She gasped, grasping his back, pressing her lips to his collar bone.

Berrel pulled her back slightly. "What's wrong? Why are you here---like this? It's the middle of the night. Wasn't it dangerous?"

Ileana smiled, her vision bleary, lips trembling. "I--I didn't care." She rasped, filled with the satisfaction of his concern. She gazed up at his unshaven, rugged face. "I had to see you."

Berrel grinned widely, lifting her, covering her delicate mouth with his.

She fell into the kiss, letting the passion consume her, until the shaky misery left her. "I love you, Berrel."

He sighed while breathing in her scent. "I miss you…when you're gone." Then he set her on the ground, eyes lingering on her. "You're here just in time, babe."

Ileana sniffled, rubbing the watery mascara from her face. She smiled. "For what?"

He crossed his arms, eyes dark. "Senator Amidala's unfortunate death."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin sat on the ottoman, he heard Qui-Gon's departing steps.

Then he looked down at Kenobi. The Knight was completely oblivious to everything, mouth parted, a feverish red splotching his cheeks.

He thought of the first time he saw Kenobi, upon the starship, crouched beside him, so very worried about his Master. Anakin smirked at that. From that moment, Qui-Gon had been HIS Master, the one that stood beside him, that felt his touch on his shoulder. All the great man's hopes for a legacy were instilled in Anakin. Kenobi was nothing then. Now, blinded and sickly, he was even less.

Anakin sat his chin on a fisted hand, as the Knight coughed harder.

The pillow beneath his head was damp with sweat.

Anakin stared at it.

A powerful urge swept through him, whispering in his mind.

He wanted to take that pillow and shove it over the damned Kenobi's face, smash it down until he could cough no more, until the breath was forever stolen from him, until he was gone…

Anakin blinked rapidly, shaking his head, belly cold. _No. I didn't just think that. I wouldn't think of such evil ideas. It was a mistake…I didn't really think it…_

He studied Kenobi again, studied the features, illuminated despite the darkness, that entranced so many at the Temple. The round jaw and hairline, the sculpted lips. Those sightless, cerulean eyes.

Whenever Anakin thought himself less than perfect, it was Kenobi's face that floated into his thoughts, taunting him, reminding him that nobody had forgotten Qui-Gon Jinn's second apprentice.

They would never forget.

Was Anakin doomed to live, partly concealed in the shadow of Obi-Wan Kenobi, an _inferior_, forever?

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Here we go." Qui-Gon announced. He sat beside Anakin, offering him a thankful smile before gently shaking Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan moaned, turning away.

Qui-Gon moved to the couch, cradling Obi-Wan's head in the curve of his arm. "Open up now." He told him in a quiet, coaxing tone.

The Knight frowned, and tried to wriggle from the Master's hold, still heavily under the medication's effects. 

Qui-Gon chucked, drawing him against his side and spraying the throat soother .

Obi-Wan swallowed hard in surprise, then relaxed, drifting easily to sleep. Qui-Gon brushed his hair from his forehead and laid him down.

Anakin couldn't stand the serene expression on his Master's face. He stormed into his private quarters.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme ran her manicured fingers along the soft, worn robe, smiling absently.

Then she rested her head against the velvet cushion of the luxury cloud car and sighed. Through the tinted window, she saw the distant mountains, tinted violet, majestic in this midnight hour.

She truly loved Naboo. It was a gem among artificiality, the place of her heart.

The Senator closed her weary eyes.

A vision sprung into her mind.

Neon lights and blurred flashes of speeding vehicles. Looming buildings and slick, cool steel.

Coruscant.

Padme straightened, clearing her throat. _No. That isn't my home._

She looked down at the deep brown cloth, played idly with the wide sleeves.

__

"Padme, every moment we're not together is a moment we've lost."

The woman gazed out the window again, leaning her cheek on her hand.

Anakin was young, and raised by an Order who forbid love. What could he really know of it then? She was probably the only female he knew, even partially well, besides his mother. 

He was rushing thoughtlessly, without any deliberation, without realizing their situation.

Anakin's emotions were most likely lust.

Padme didn't much care for the power of physical attraction. It wasn't logical. She knew, on some level, that she was pleasing in appearance, had overheard enough conversations, read the mentioning of it in articles. But it was mere chance that she was attractive. She could be a troll with warts sprouting on her nose, she would still be Padme Amidala.

And she wasn't sure Anakin understood that.

__

"..we're going to be together, Padme. I know it."

Her stomach fluttered at the memory. Then she took a deep breath, forcing herself to place the robe on the adjacent seat.

__

I don't care what he says. It's too soon.

I don't love him.

I don't.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Ileana backed unconsciously away from him, gripping onto the desk. "What?" She asked, her breath still coming in hitches.

Berrel shot her a quizzical look, then approached her. "I'm not waiting anymore. She's more than a nuisance now, baby. She could wreck everything."

Ileana swallowed. "You---You're going to kill her?"

He stared at her intently for a moment before laughing. "_I_ don't take risks that big. I may like walking a dangerous line or two, but I wouldn't enjoy being executed." He wiped a smudge from his metallic hand. "But believe me, I WANT to kill the mouthy witch."

Ileana's eyes fell. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, so cold all of a sudden. The chill was snaking into her heart. His deathly frost.

He was going to kill Padme. Her dear friend, who thought to gaze beneath the surface, and discover the liveliness of a woman many considered dull and useless. 

And Berrel would plan her murder easily. He wouldn't care that Padme Amidala sought to protect the weak, that she had given Ileana some sort of worth.

__

Oh stars. Ileana trembled. Her stomach roiled. _I was going to throw away my friendship. Put so many more lives in danger---for him._

For nothing.

She felt his flesh hand scrape against her elbow, and she secured the mask in place, smiling at him. "You know why I'm so insanely in love with you, Berrel?" She asked in a sultry tone, running her thin fingers up his muscular arm.

Berrel cupped her chin. "Why?"

She fluttered her lashes. "Because of your genius." Ileana quelled her reborn disgust for this creature, and kissed him. "Because…you are the most intelligent man I've ever known."

Berrel mouthed her neck. "Is that so?"

"Mmmhmm…" She blinked back her shamed tears. With a small, flirty smile, Ileana leaned in closer. "I can't believe you're going to kill the witch." She settled her hand in his hair, and her breath warmed his ear. "Tell me everything."

And he did.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The weapon was remarkable.

He searched his mind for a better term---efficient, sturdy, even unusual---but found none that suited it as well.

Maul studied the long hilt. It was black, but with underlying glitters of gray. The protruding stripes of the power source gleamed red. One end was slightly curved.

But what drew the Sith's attention were the pair of letters, engraved jaggedly in the middle of this exceptional saber: 'DF'.

The violent shaft of rage assaulted him again.

His Master had assembled this fine lightsaber, and initially the apprentice assumed it was a mere replacement.

So it had been puzzling when Sidious placed it in a smooth, black case, lined with velvet, and had not touched it since the construction was completed.

The thought of it burned away in Maul's mind, until curiosity finally bested him, and he investigated the oddity.

Now, looking at the custom weapon, he was filled with a morbid certainty.

There had to be a way to stop this madness.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan flipped onto his stomach, one hand resting on the pillow while the other clung to the edge of the ottoman.

A contented sigh slipped from his mouth.

He felt the malady dwindling in his weak, impossibly weary body. The medicine left a rather pleasant stuffiness around his mind, so that his thoughts were hazy and light, too wispy to grasp.

But the emotions carried in them were coherent: happiness, comfort, sweet familiarity. 

He wanted to stay in this state. No troubles, nothing truly tangible apart from faint feelings, with his eyes closed. When everyone slept, from peasant to haughty king, their eyes were shut. It was in the quiet of deep night that Obi-Wan could be equal. Darkness surrounded all in those hours.

And Qui-Gon was here to take care of him. Yes, he had sensed the man near to him up to the moment he fell to the heavy, drug-induced slumber. It was like it used to be. Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon would be here still, until day broke, until Obi-Wan felt that distinct warmth of a rising sun creep up his back.

Like it used to be.

If resentment was alive in him now, it was surely dying, for he was filled with good memories of his apprenticeship, of nights spent this way.

Obi-Wan smiled, shifting to his side, the cover slipping from his bare chest without notice. "Master?" He whispered. 

There was no response. Obi-Wan rubbed at his face, though he continued to smile sloppily. "Master?"

Silence. 

Obi-Wan leaned forward. He balanced himself with an open palm, and searched the ottoman with probing fingers. "Master?"

There wouldn't be a soothing rumble of baritone to answer.

Qui-Gon was gone.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin lifted his head when the door to his room slid open. 

"Can't sleep?" Qui-Gon asked, pulling a chair up beside him at the large, mahogany desk. 

"No. I was just waiting for the information on the case to come in. Padme said she would call when it was on the way."

Qui-Gon sat a stack of holopads on the desktop. "A bellboy dropped them off a few minutes ago." 

"Oh." Anakin said almost inaudibly, staring at them a moment, before turning to look out the window. Glints of a slivery moon caught in his dim eyes. 

Qui-Gon noticed the obvious disappointment, could read it at once in the suddenly rigid lines of his Padawan's body. "Are you too tired to look these over with me?"

Anakin broke from his daze. He shook his head. "Of course not, Master. I'm---eager---to learn more about all this."

But Qui-Gon knew what really had distracted his student, what had left a sad mist over a usually lively spirit. Anakin attempted to conceal the emotion, as he did with most feelings, and yet Jinn could see it clear as a Melaharan crystal. _Pa---Senator Amidala was intending to call here. _

Anakin was intending to answer.

Qui-Gon gazed at the boy thoughtfully, brow displaying an inner troubling. "Anakin, why _were_ you out so late with the Senator?"

Anakin didn't bat an eyelash. His face was smoothly bland. "Just catching up, Master." His thick lips were a straight line. "You know, how my life has been, how hers is. Just general stuff." _Not too much of a lie._

The weak lighting made it appear that the edges of Anakin's hair were burning. Qui-Gon noted that the illumination had a very different effect on this youth, than any other. It didn't caress and stroke his face, as it did with a certain Knight in the main room. Qui-Gon was certain that no one else could captivate the incandescence quite like Obi-Wan-but Anakin's visage seemed to smolder under the brightness.

Not at all gentle.

Not at all comforting.

Qui-Gon shifted uneasily, tearing his eyes from the sight, and focused again on the numerous holopads.

"So," He cleared his throat, "We should be able to finish these in reasonable time. Much of the information is sketchy, according to the Senator."

Anakin just nodded, fist digging into his chin. "What about Knight Kenobi?"

Try as he might, the apprentice couldn't neutral the disdain completely in his voice. Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. "He is resting."

Anakin wanted to roll his eyes. "Shouldn't he be _helping_? I mean, he's part of this 'team' too."

Qui-Gon tensed discreetly. "With the amount of drugs in his system, he would be of little help."

__

What's new? "So he's just gonna lay there while we work through the night?"

The Master's jaw clenched. "Yes. He will be proficiently filled in tomorrow, once he is lucid and well again.

"Now, shall we begin?"

Anakin grabbed a holopad half-heartedly, anger throbbing at the base of his neck. "Yes, Master." 

Qui-Gon was silent then, as he was immersed in the reports.

Anakin drifted after reading the first sentence. He wondered why Padme hadn't called. Had his proposal offended her _that_ deeply? _She should take it as a compliment. I only wanted to touch those lips._

Qui-Gon coughed, and it sounded forced. Anakin straightened and attentively looked down at the screen. He galvanized his mental shields.

He didn't like it when his Master could hear the thoughts and rasping whispers in his head.

After all, they weren't _his_ to hear.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

He heard a tapping at the door, and sat up, shoving the stuffed bantha beneath his pillow. He tentatively reached out through the Force, then smiled softly. "Come in, Mejant." 

There was the quiet sound of cloth brushing against cloth as she walked to him, and Obi-Wan tried hard to conjure an image of her: obsidion hair hanging to her waist, short legs covered with cream-colored material, tunic sleeves a bit too long, as they had been since their childhood. She would be older now, carrying more wisdom in her breathtaking eyes. He attempted to picture her, with the flush of round cheeks, the curve of beloved lips, flutter of painted lashes.

It had been three years since he was able to see her. Despite his struggles to overcome the wear of time, her appearance was beginning to fade in his mind. Other things, too. Things he had taken for granted, things that now kept him up during cold nights. He agonized over the losses, for every day seemed bleaker with thinning recollections. 

Yes, her hair was obsidion, he had written the description countless times in secret poems.

Obsidion, charcoal, inky.

Beautiful.

It didn't do much good to ask what these words represented. He would only sound like a fool when he heard the response, a response he would most likely not remember either. 

One recent morning, he was sipping muja juice, and paused, the sticky drink drying on his mouth, as he attempted to recall the shade of it. There were color titles floating through his mind---red, orange, yellow---but what did they mean? He wasn't sure---

"I know you didn't want to go to the little festival down on main level today. But Master Claren made his famous chocolate drops."

Fingers cupped the curve of his neck, and he rested his head against her wrist appreciatively. "You saved me a pound or two…right?"

She giggled. "Or five."

Obi-Wan gasped, but it bordered on an amused laugh. "What?"

Mejant held a strand of russet loosely between her fingers, watching it gleam in the sunlight. "I know how much you like that stuff. Claren was more than happy to give it."

Obi-Wan blushed, and Mejant felt ridiculous at how the change in that lovely face captivated her. "Mejant, I was joking about a 'pound or two'. I thought maybe a few drops…You actually brought five pounds?"

"Yep."

"I thought he was strict about the amount he gave each person!"

"Eh, I have my ways."

Obi-Wan made a strangled, bewildered sound. "I hope you know you're going to have to help me with it." He patted her stomach.

Mejant chuckled, catching his hand with his. "Yeah right, wise guy. Like I'd eat that. It's pure sugar!"

"Yeah…sure." Obi-Wan retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "But if it was dribbled with Krokali nut butter, you'd be all over it."

"So! The point is, it's NOT. So eat up, my love. I've loved you at a hundred and sixty pounds, I'll love you at three hundred."

Obi-Wan kissed her cheek. "I have no doubt you would."

Mejant breathed out contently, savoring the intimate touch. From time to time, Obi-Wan was distant, and an affectionate gesture was rare. He wore a heavy look on his handsome visage then. She could feel the burden of his disability when he smiled the counterfeit smile he used to downplay the pain. Mejant knew he would not share the hurt, would harbor it in his heart. Would blink until the tears dried.

"People were asking about you." She commented while nestling against his chest.

He wrapped a strong arm around her . "Really?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Any of the young female Knights? You know, the ones that DON'T try to murder me with chocolate poisoning."

Mejant grinned. "Yes, but I don't think Bant's your type."

He dropped another kiss on her head. "You never know."

"Well, you **were** sorely missed. Master Windu, Adi, Poof, Yoda, of course, Jinn and Luminara. She seems happy lately. For awhile, she was so upset, after that disastrous mission---"

Obi-Wan's heart thundered in his chest. "What did he say?" He asked, in a tone both sharp and faintly frightened.

"Who?"

Obi-Wan fairly trembled. "You know who."

Mejant winced. It had really, truly slipped. She had no intention of bringing former Master and Padawan together again. It was just another name to her, on a list drafted quickly in her mind. "He---uh---He wanted to know why you weren't attending. He wondered why you would miss one of your favorite things---he said he was worried you were ill…or something."

Obi-Wan swallowed, with a bit of difficulty. His breathing was erratic against Mejant's back. "What did you tell him?"

Mejant looked up at her dear companion, read the pain beating in his sightless eyes. "I told him you were napping."

The tension eased a fraction in him. 

Mejant sighed. The bright, joking Obi, the one that lived in a thousand, blissful yesterdays, had retreated once more, leaving the muted shadow.

She turned around, pulling him into an embrace. The warmth radiated between them, and she was glad.

He became so deathly cold sometimes.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan pulled the tight-knit blanket over his bare chest, shivering, as the medicine dulled in him, and the pain resurfaced.

He should not have trusted. His heart had been deceived by a few gentle words and a healing touch. 

He knew now. Nothing could heal him. 

Especially Qui-Gon Jinn.

He should have known, should have held to the beliefs guarding him as he stepped up that transport platform. He had been taught from childhood never to leave oneself open for attack.

And Obi-Wan did.

There was a loneliness in him, that gnawed at his soul, that left him aching and empty. Mejant couldn't fill it, though her love and devotion did instill a weak warmth in him. She kindled it with her quiet encouragement and unconditional support. Gods, but he loved her.

He tried to make that enough. But there was an echo in his ears, repeating in his mind, telling him that nothing could quite be enough.

Because this loneliness wasn't new, it had been there when he was nothing more than a clumsy, awkward initiate, always a little too conscious of shortcomings, though he honestly had very few. Obi-Wan Kenobi would never realize anything _save_ his faults, and that festered in him. He needed someone wonderful, someone flawless, to show him the way, down a path that would not accept his failings.

Qui-Gon Jinn was that guide, and he loved him almost instantly, willingly giving all he could, in hopes that he would, possibly, be better.

And for so long, he stood beside that man. He stood at his father's shoulder, admired the noble Master like no other could. He knew the affection had been, ultimately, one-sided, but occasionally, there would be a shared smile, or an unexplained embrace. When Qui-Gon would betray his reputation of a distant, cold rogue, and be an insecure boy's best friend.

When that relationship was severed, and Anakin Skywalker stole Obi-Wan's entire Universe, Qui-Gon took the very essence of his former apprentice with him.

No, nobody could fill such an utter void…

Though, for awhile, during these few, strange days, Obi-Wan believed Qui-Gon could.

He lay on the sleepcouch, a night wind whistling sharply beyond the window, a very old weariness capturing him once more.

__

"You shouldn't have done this…….. You should have told someone the moment you began feeling ill. You should not have come on this mission."

Obi-Wan's breath hitched. There had been the declaration, a ringing truth, and he chose to ignore it. To spare himself from a pain that could never be ignored too long.

__

He doesn't want me here. He never wanted me.

And I let myself think----

The thought thankfully dissolved, and he was reduced to hot, bitter tears.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon set the holopad down, rubbing at his dry eyes. There were numerous information disks, but overall their contents were the same. Different victims, sharing impressive physical traits and training, disappearing inexplicably. No history of mental problems, nothing that would cause them to suddenly run away.

It was another example of the dangers of the Universe. Each dusky alley held horrible possibility, every empty street was open for violence. His spirit was weighed down by the musing. There was too much suffering and greed for a single Order, much less a single Jedi, to contend with. 

And he worried for the defenseless, as he worried for the young man beside him, head buried in lanky arms, snoring loudly.

Qui-Gon Jinn had learned long, long before that cruelty wasn't biased, it touched without a prejudice, harming any and everyone.

As sure as the night brought a swirling darkness to the sky, it would be this way.

His only defense was the Force. He would pass this eternal weapon on to those he loved. He had taught the facets of this unifying glory, ultimate protection, to his apprentices. It was the armor that deflected fatal blows. On his dying day, it would be the barest legacy of his life: the single lesson that stood above all else: the Force was strength.

But it didn't bless every being like it had blessed him. There were crying children in barren villages, without that soft melody whispered in their minds, that spoke of peace and benevolent power, that calmed even the most uproarious of storms. And there were wicked souls, whose corrupted, rotting auras were coiled around the darker shades of that Force.

Qui-Gon glanced at Anakin, and a cold flitted through his stomach. He knew that times ahead wouldn't always be bright and pleasant, that black and evil would permeate solidity. His nightmare was for his dear Padawan to be swept into the awful whirlwind lying in wait.

With a steady heart and proper guard, Anakin would survive it.

He smiled at the slumbering youth, but the expression felt stiff to Qui-Gon, and he stood. The room seemed to have been sucked of fresh air.

It was like he was being strangled by the abrupt depletion. The Master hastened through the hall into the main area, where he found a comforting stillness.

His steps slowed as he approached Obi-Wan, wedged snugly in the curve of the couch, breathing in rattled gasps.

Qui-Gon grabbed the vapor rub and sat beside him. His nose was throbbing from the confused reaction Obi-Wan had to him that unfortunate morning. The man refused to think of it as intentional.

This was _Obi-Wan._

Not Anakin.

Qui-Gon sealed his eyes and shook his head, twisting the lid off. _Anakin's temper is aggravated occasionally. He would never act out rashly._

Obi-Wan's hand was curled on his chest. Jinn gently lifted it. The glint of distant light caught on the Knight's skin, illuminating the bruising on his fingers. Qui-Gon brushed his own thick, callused fingers across the purplish contusions, and shuddered inwardly.

__

It was an accident.

He studied Obi-Wan's relaxed face, and he couldn't resist touching a pallid, soft cheek.

__

Things are getting better. I heard it in his voice, sensed it in his movements.

The scene of the fist flying at him replayed in his mind. The sound of the mild, tender hand clashing with his face. The pain blossoming, the blood flowing.

__

Never again.

Because things are getting better.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Ileana stepped out into the sun, and the rays of pure blinding light caused her to blink, and look down.

More tears collected on her freshly enhanced lashes. She sighed, tightening her resolve, sealing her eyes until the moisture was all but gone.

Her hair was swept into a bun, with thin fly-away strands dangling in her face. She felt mussed and bedraggled, dress deeply creased and dark smudges staining the skin beneath her eyes. The wrinkles marring a gracefully aged visage seemed prominent.

She moved briskly along the sidewalk, early morning air filling her lungs with slightly relieving freshness. 

Naboo was waking around her, a few merchants set their fruits out carefully, while a young, softly clothed couple strolled, glancing at store windows, and at Ileana.

She knew they must think contemptuously of her; past her prime and hopelessly alone, unkempt, visibly desperate. They would journey to their quaint home, revel in new love, dream of the future.

And she would return to her solitary existence. She had accepted that last night.

But Padme Amidala didn't deserve an unhappy fate, she was needed here. Without her influence, dismal clouds would gather in this breathtaking, clear sky. Nobody, not even the doting couple, would be able to flourish in eternal twilight.

Saving the Senator was Ileana Zimn's future now.

She quickened her pace.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme sat in the hotel's lavish restaurant. As she fiddled absentmindedly with a cloth napkin, plates of steaming food went by, succulent dishes that would normally leave her, to be frank, drooling.

Today, her appetite was replaced by a cold churning in her stomach that spread in goose pimples along her smooth skin. She was thankful for the long sleeves of her pale violet gown, that boasted embroidered and bejeweled openings, with an oval cut-out on her back, aptly displayed due to her done-up hair. Tiny, glittering clasps held loosely curled tendrils away from her face.

Two bodyguards stood at the eatery's door, dressed in casual attire. Their distinctly muscular bodies were lost in the baggy clothes, and their eyes rarely drifted to the lone Senator.

She studied the chandeliers that hovered above every table, trying to steer her focus away from the irritating jackhammer that had become her heart. 

A few fellow diners looked at her discreetly, and Padme flushed, bowing her head, all at once very uncomfortable with her recognizable persona. 

She was reaching for a piece of thick wheat bread when a waitress stopped at her side. "Are you waiting for someone, Senator Amidala…m'am?"

Padme concealed the instinctive grimace at such a stale, unbecoming term, smiling with her rouge mouth closed. "Yes. Three men." When she realized how that must sound, she hurriedly added an explanation. "They're assisting me on a case, and are staying at the hotel."

"Oh, of course. Would you like a drink?"

Padme caught sight of the Jedi trio approaching, Anakin standing between them, face as intense and intent as always. She gazed up at the waitress, chestnut eyes unknowingly widened. "Y-Yes." She cleared her throat, clasping her hands together. 

The waitress frowned, looking at the young woman, waiting. After a few moments, she spoke. "Um, what would you like?"

Padme realized she didn't know the name of any types of liquor , having abstained from the stuff of her own accord. But today, her calm had vanished before daybreak, and anxiety rolled through her. "What would you suggest?"

Before the waitress could respond, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Anakin had taken their seats.

Padme took a deep breath. Anakin was sitting scarcely a foot away from her. "Um, never mind." She answered. "Water will be fine."

It wasn't the first time someone had looked at her as though she were insane, but it was certainly the most embarrassing, and the Senator cursed herself silently.

Qui-Gon noticed her rather unglued manner, but chose wisely to ignore it. "Good morning, Senator Amidala."

Padme grinned at him, relieved to have conversation began. "Good morning, Master Jedi. I trust you all slept well?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon assured.

Anakin wanted to laugh. _Of course. _He shot Kenobi a small glare. _If you were so drugged out you couldn't even read a single datapad, that is._

"Was the information helpful?" She asked.

Anakin replied a beat faster than Qui-Gon. "Oh yes, Padme, it was very helpful."

She smiled at him, and it was a soft, tender expression, intimate, though the room was full and bustling. "I'm glad."

Qui-Gon's jaw clenched slightly. He should have sat between them.

Obi-Wan heard every word of the dialogue, but felt distanced from the other three, and couldn't find a moment to add a comment.

His pallor was still noticeably pale, nearly ghostly against the gold and cream backdrop of the restaurant. Already, the lucid yellow light was causing a glisten to that skin, and his cloak was wrapped tightly around his recovering body.

He didn't speak a word through the meal, except when he ordered a meager breakfast of fruit. The exotic aroma skirted past his nostrils; he was uninterested in the juicy slices. He sipped his weak juice.

Eventually, Qui-Gon leaned in closer to him, and whispered in his ear. "Are you alright, Obi-Wan? You haven't touched a thing."

Obi-Wan's lips were sealed, he didn't acknowledge the Master's concerns. _He is only worried because he has to be. The Council might be upset if I turned up dead._

It used to frighten Obi-Wan a bit when he thought longingly of his own demise. Now he was accustomed to the morbid desire.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~


	6. The Wicked Hand

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Six: The Wicked Hand

__

I was dreaming of the past

And my heart was beating fast

I began to lose control

I began to lose control… -John Lennon

Sidious's waxen, aged face was perfectly still, dry blue eyes narrowed beneath lazy lids. The room was bathed in cold shadow that spilled on his colorless cheeks. From the chilly outside appearance, one would not suspect the broiling inside the corrupted man.

There were forces circling Kenobi. Darkness encroaching upon that brilliant, guileless spirit. Things that wished to poison the virtuous heart… Creatures that wanted to destroy him.

These threatening opponents didn't care about the enormous, unbelievable potential of Kenobi. They knew of it, Sidious was sure, for one could not go long without realizing the intelligence gleaming in cerulean orbs, the strength and skill ingrained in the compact body. But the Sith Lord couldn't detect the origins of the hate, only that they grew closer with every heartbeat. The malevolence was well-buried in these despicable beasts. Many detested Kenobi, for the plethora of talents, some evident with a mere glance---though these quick looks always seemed to linger. He was the epitome of a true, gifted Jedi Knight.

Sidious could guess who would want to obliterate such a man.

Now, to decide between the two main suspects was more difficult to do.

He snorted, the withered pads of liver-spotted fingers drumming together idly.

__

I will know who…eventually. They will have done me a great favor.

Sidous smiled. _No---They will have done US a great favor._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"What are the plans for today's investigation, Senator?" Qui-Gon asked, taking a long draught of refreshing juice.

Padme dabbed her lips daintily with a napkin, then looked directly at the Master. "I may have been misleading yesterday, and I apologize. When I said that the list of possible locations of the underground system was narrowed, I meant the locations of where the brainwashed men are released once their training is complete. Ileana has visited the main area many times, but has never watched a man 'set free', to complete their mission. I'm just very weary from this case---I guess I expected you to be informed as I was…" She rubbed at her eye with a single finger. "Though it was your first day on the case." She shook her head, gently shifting clean, gleaming hair with the movement. "I'm very sorry, my friends."

Anakin, unsurprisingly, was quick to comfort her. "Don't apologize, Padme. You haven't confused anyone." He offered her a wide smile.

Padme grinned back, with that expression that radiated beauty and compassion, that set her dark eyes afire. 

The young apprentice's breath was stolen away, he was so entranced by the vision before him. He nearly placed his hand on her arm---but Qui-Gon's ever-critical presence weighed on his mind. 

Obi-Wan swallowed, his parched throat cracking. "Yes, Milady, no harm was done."

Then, as fluidly as it was fixed upon Anakin, Padme's precious gaze floated to the Knight. "Thank you, Master Kenobi. I am very much relieved." She reached out, and gripped his clammy hand briefly. Affection and sympathy poured from her aura. It seemed to soften the lines of her, glisten in chestnut orbs and ebony lashes.

Anakin watched the silent gift of support, seeing her touch Kenobi, the stunning transformation the blinded Knight caused in _Anakin's _woman. _What a waste._ He thought angrily as he studied Kenobi with contempt. Eyes of pale cerulean were unfocused, looking off into some unknown horizon over the Senator's shoulder.

A soft smile bloomed on Obi-Wan's face, blossoming fairly in sculpted lips before shrinking away again. 

Qui-Gon coughed, unsettled by the emotions he sensed roiling off both his Padawan and the lovely politician. "What were these plans, Senator Amidala?"

Padme too cleared her throat, turning from the two younger Jedi. "Ileana has mentioned Berrel has a right-hand man. He sets up clients with Berrel, usually downtown, in the later hours…."

As the Jedi listened intently to her, a small round droid flew by, black, save for a gray antenna that protruded from its right side, instructed to tap into their quiet conversation.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The quartet walked out into the dazzling Naboo sun, Anakin gazing at Padme the whole while, as the incandescence caressed her lovingly.

The day smelled of crisp leaves and drying dew; Obi-Wan inhaled the sweet aromas, and for a moment felt blessed to be on this rare, beautiful planet. He listened, with his sharpened sense, to the others' steps against the pavement, to their voices, varying in tone, from melodic and light to husky and deep, allowing them to replace the defunct orbs, unseeing as glass.

His russet hair shone in the morning light, and his reserved, almost painfully exquisite countenance was shiftless, save the distant twinkle of his moist lips. He journeyed with the group as though he were not handicapped at all---his gait was as confident as anyone else's---and his former Master found he could not look away from Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Today there was a change in the Knight, Qui-Gon knew, just from a hasty glance in the early hours, as they prepared for the day ahead. Obi-Wan's posture was neither slumped nor rigid, it held the easy grace that was trademark, and the older Jedi was relieved to see the change. The frightening and dreadfully intense malady was releasing its serpentine clutches from Obi-Wan. The color was slowly, slowly erasing the wan quality of his skin, Qui-Gon could detect tiny shades of its usual gold beneath the pasty surface.

He had commented on the obvious improvement in Obi-Wan's health, but the Knight must not have heard, for he gave no response, no indication he had registered the Master's words.

When they had time alone, perhaps while they searched the suspicious areas of Theed, Qui-Gon would talk to him. 

Padme's eyes swept over the architectural masterpieces that lined the mildly busy streets, and she smiled. "Sometimes I forget how wonderful it is."

She had said it in a private whisper, not intending for anyone to pick it up, but Anakin Skywalker's senses were keener than most, and he stepped an inch closer. "It is wonderful…" He waited until she was looking up at him. "_I _have never forgotten."

She turned her head from him fast. "The Investigation Center isn't far from here. I would have called for transportation, but I figured you all could use a small reminder of the main streets."

Qui-Gon smiled. "It is a pleasure to soak up Naboo's abundant charms, Senator."

They walked on.

Suddenly, Padme stopped, a huge grin spreading on her delicate face. "Master Kenobi!" She exclaimed, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand, practically dragging the confused Jedi with her.

A huge flower display was before them. Countless blooms of every shade imaginable were clustered together. Their saffron centers glistened. 

She crouched down in front of the stunning scene, forgetting, or not caring, about the long flowing (expensive) dress she wore. Obi-Wan politely followed her down.

Padme leaned forward and expertly plucked a violet blossom. "This is Naboo's finest, Master Kenobi. A thousand queens have occupied the throne---and this is the flower that adorns the palace between every coronation." She held it near to his nose, and he breathed in the scent.

It was perfect and subtle, cloying and clean, Obi-Wan thought he had never smelled something quite as lovely. Yes, it must be Naboo's finest, for it was the culmination of all things Naboo: beauty, freshness, simple purity. 

He smiled then, and Senator Amidala felt a warmth encompass her heart when she saw the pleasure in him.

Qui-Gon was stunned by it all. He stared down at the two, a new and stronger respect forming for this young politician.

Anakin curled his fingers, in and out, stricken. _I want to make her smile like that. _That well-built inner smugness surged. _And not because I'm a charity case._

The gentle moment between Senator and Jedi ended, they rose, and the trek continued without another word about it.

There were no words, but there were many thoughts.

Qui-Gon peered over at his apprentice. A foggy emotion trickled through the boy's Force barriers.

Envy.

It was unusual for Anakin to hold jealousy towards anyone…unless that person happened to be Obi-Wan. It was a weakness the boy harbored from long ago. The reason for his disdain for the quiet, kind Knight.

He saw Obi-Wan as a threat, bluntly. Qui-Gon wished Anakin knew him as he truly was.

The Master knew it would save much pain.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Maul wheeled around when the black machine began beeping wildly.

Long strings of words flew onto the yellow screen, and his blood-washed eyes were sewn to the data.

It was a detailed account of the morning meal, and conversations, between the Jedi and the Senator. Every syllable, every minute movement. 

He skimmed through the meaningless sections of the dialogue, which comprised nearly the entire exchange, but read carefully through a certain topic.

He could imagine the sickening Amidala, her beloved democracy draped over her like a stifling cloak, so self-satisfied with her meager discoveries in the case:

__

" Ileana has mentioned Berrel has a right-hand man. He sets up clients with Berrel, usually downtown, in the later hours. Berrel refers to him as 'Lorb'. Ileana isn't sure if that's his actual name, or a false title to protect the man. But apparently it's rather hard to make a deal with him; prices are spectacularly high, and Lorb has a problem with trust."

The Master, the man with a trembling spine, the man who left his apprentice to be scorched by the enemy's blade, spoke now: _"This Lorb would be useful if we could somehow speak with him. I'm sure we could collect a sufficient amount of credits."_

Amidala replied: _"That is a good idea, Master Jinn. With Ileana's help, it wouldn't be too difficult to locate him."_

Here, Obi-Wan Kenobi voiced his opinion, and the Sith apprentice felt familiar rage rise in him. His chest heaved, his heartbeats echoed in his ears: _"Someone could pose as a potential client---"_

A new vocal joined in, cutting off the Knight mid-sentence. Skywalker. Maul remembered the obnoxious and helplessly self-absorbed youth from his frequent visits to Master Sidious' office. _"I could do it! I could pretend I was interested in having someone killed, and then maybe I could get inside!"_

It was Kenobi who addressed the plans first. _"And what if your cover was blown while inside? You would surely be killed---and the mission would be dead in the water."_

Skywalker was quick to defend himself. _"I would have my commlink."_

Kenobi laughed. _"They would check for such things"_

"And I have my link with Master, of course. That can't be checked for, Knight Kenobi. It stands through ANYTHING."

Maul tried to imagine the hurt that must have twisted the Knight's features. At least Skywalker was good for something.

__

"Yes, but will that link keep you from being killed?"

Skywalker spoke in clipped, straightforward words. _"What business is it of YOURS?"_

The Master intervened. _"Anakin, perhaps Knight Kenobi is right."_

"Why? You don't trust me to complete the task successfully, Master?"

"Of course I do, Anakin….That's not the point."

"Oh, then what is the point?"

Senator Amidala changed the subject then, commenting on the exceptional meal. 

Maul chuckled, in a hushed, throaty tone. These three were the supposed elite of the Jedi Order, and the woman was rumored to be one of the top politicians in decades. 

So easily their guises fell away. Maul saw the tension between Master and apprentice, the hate for Kenobi burning in Skywalker. Something in the Senator burning for Skywalker, as was hinted at in various sections of the report.

But most importantly, Padme had unknowingly revealed some crucial information surrounding 'Lorb'.

He thought of Kenobi again, and this time he was not brimming with disdain. No, he was quite looking forward to hearing more from the Knight…in the very near future.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

When Padme and the Jedi reached the Center, the woman was shocked to see Ileana standing at the door.

"Ileana? What are you doing?" She rushed forward, holding her dress up with two fingers as she ran. "What's wrong?"

The porcelain skin was stained with cloudy tears. Her stained red lips trembled. "Oh, Senator. I couldn't believe it. I---" She scrubbed at her eyes. "Berrel---he is planning on killing you."

Padme's eyes narrowed in concentration. Rhell Vininon had spoken to her of such demonic plans, but to hear they had moved forward without him was jarring. She breathed in. "Ileana, you must calm down. Tell me what happened." She steadily ordered, hands on the woman's shaking shoulders.

Ileana's lashes fluttered, and she forced the streams of moisture to stop their warm descent. "He said he hated you. That you were ruining his plans, a--and,"

Shadow fell over Anakin's face then, he stalked toward them, teeth grinding painfully together.

There was much anger rolling off the Padawan, so that peals of it passed through his shielding. Qui-Gon felt the utter strength of it, and followed the boy without thought, worried that Anakin would set off to destroy whatever he could get his hands on. This rage was too potent, too blinding. 

Obi-Wan had no link whatsoever to Skywalker, never touched his mind on any level, nor had any intention to, but he also sensed the ire, though it was fainter. 

Ileana shoved strands of her hair furiously out of her face. "And he couldn't afford to let you continue with your investigation. He has trained someone, at least one of his hunters, to kill you."

Padme swallowed, taking an absent step from Ileana.

Anakin put a wide hand on her smooth back, in wordless comfort. "When?" His voice was sharp, and dark, and as near to menacing as Ileana had ever heard.

She reluctantly met his intense gaze. "Within the week. H-He wasn't sure exactly when." For some reason, Ileana had to look away from the Jedi apprentice, as if he wanted her to be shamed, as if it was in part her fault.

Qui-Gon's cool voice broke through the emotional, frenzied moment. "Then the investigation must go fast." He turned to his upset protégé. "Anakin, tonight you will find Lorb, and enlist Berrel' services."

Anakin gave a short nod. "Yes, Master."

Padme moved out of his lingering touch, and entered the Center.

Ileana exchanged a concerned glance with Qui-Gon, then joined the Senator, Anakin on her heels.

Obi-Wan stood in the walkway, motionless among the rustling leaves of a looming tree, and the soft shifting of grass beneath his feet. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Qui-Gon crossed his arms. His long, graying hair rippled in the breeze. "What? What is it?"

Obi-Wan snorted quietly, shaking his head. "I'm surprised you care, Master Jinn." He said, inflection as cold as steel. "After all, my premonitions meant nothing to you before."

He disappeared into the Center, leaving the Master to consider everything in this whirlwind mission, while the irritatingly tranquil wind blew.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

A glowing crescent illuminated the swirling, obsidian sky, and the musty, draped windows were lit dimly.

Qui-Gon glanced outside, listening to the restless shifts of holopads from the table beside him.

Padme concealed her yawn with a hand. "Perhaps Anakin should look for Lorb now." She suggested, slipping a report under her arm. "The night is short."

Anakin stared at her, a small smile crooked on his mouth. "I would be happy to begin the search, Padme."

Qui-Gon had given up trying to correct the too-casual address, and he sighed quietly, standing. "Yes, but you should heed Knight Kenobi's warnings."

Anakin bitterly swallowed his caustic retort, refusing to look in Kenobi's direction. Instead, his gaze remained enchanted on the graceful Senator. "Of course, Master." His tone was flat, and deadly obedient. "I will need the credits."

Before Qui-Gon could produce any, Padme had handed the apprentice a thick stack, held in a velvet pouch. "Here, Ani."

Anakin felt as their fingers brushed, and breathed in deeply, savoring the quick touch. "Thank you, Padme."

Padme looked at him a moment longer, then turned her attention to Obi-Wan. "Master Kenobi, if it is agreeable, I would like to speak with you."

Obi-Wan stood. "Certainly, Milady." His accent was light and cultured, in soft contrast to Anakin's brashness. 

"No, not now. I must speak of something in private. A pressing matter that I've delayed too long." 

"Oh." Obi-Wan gave a short tip of his head. "Certainly."

"Good." Padme grinned, visibly pleased.

Qui-Gon was mildly started, sure that she would have offered any invitation to his apprentice above Obi-Wan, but was relieved. Anakin was not in need of such distractions, for the Senator was always a magnetic force, attracting the Padawan in an instant. Obi-Wan was better suited to handle meetings with her, would stay focused.

__

He is a good Jedi. Qui-Gon mused, with the slightest stirring of pride.

Anakin clutched the bundle of credits. Without a parting word, he stormed out of the Center.

Padme noticed the cold undertone of his exit, and felt her heart ache.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan allowed the Senator to lead him inside her home. He was pleasantly welcomed by a mixture of aromas: fresh flowers, sweet cleanliness, and vanilla. Cool air circulated, and the warmth of some sort of lighting above heated his chilly body.

"Please, sit." Padme said, resting on a stylish, curved sofa.

For a second, neither said anything, the woman with her hands folded in her lap, he propping his elbows on his knees.

"Master Kenobi…I don't know if this is appropriate, but I must tell you something." Padme finally purged, her striking face pinched, stomach taut with nerves.

Obi-Wan only smiled. "Whatever you wish to tell me, I wish to hear, Milady."

She breathed out a bit, releasing her hair from the clasps. It spilled onto her shoulders. "Thank you for your support…On Naboo, all those years ago---" Padme faltered, looking down, pursing her lips. "I was very young to be Queen. I was woefully optimistic." She smiled ruefully. "I was but a child. Not worthy of governing an entire planet."

"You did an excellent job, Milady. Your people loved you very much."

Though it was meant as a comfort, the comment left tears gleaming on her cheeks. "Yes. But what of the people who---who never survived the war? There had to have been a way to save them, Obi-Wan. A way to have avoided it all." She dropped her head into her hands.

Obi-Wan listened to her rough sobs, and her stabbing pain began to jab into him as well. He laid his hand on her shoulder. For some reason, the worn image of the Sith fell into the periphery of his mind's eye. "It is horrible to say, Milady, but for the greater good, there are always casualties. It is needless torture to think you could have prevented them. I have spent years witnessing the deaths of innocents. Women, children--"

Padme flinched.

"But for every life that was stolen, so many were saved. The Federation was going to attack, no matter what you did. You could have retreated to a safer place to wait it out---but you didn't. You faced the bastards, and you protected your planet. Do not writhe in wrongful guilt, Padme."

Padme gazed up at him, and saw his eyes, glittering deadly in the half-light. They were beautiful eyes. He didn't judge her, didn't condemn or ignore her concerns. He acknowledged that her hurt was real, just as she knew his was. "When I was shot, when I was laying there bleeding, I watched men fall. And I---I felt their deaths to the core of me…and I-I wanted to die. I wanted to leave my body, and leave my home." She wiped the moisture from her face." It was nothing but a bloody battleground. I wanted to leave it all. Just so I wouldn't have to feel anymore."

Obi-Wan nodded, tears silently coursing down his face.

"I figured that if those valiant men were dying, why should I live? Why---" She broke down then, crying hoarsely, clutching handfuls of her curled hair.

The Knight pulled her gently against his chest, and laid his head atop hers. "Because you are needed still, to protect those who lived on. Somewhere, good is needed, Padme." His voice was quiet and low. "Is it needed everywhere. There is darkness all around us, closing in, and light is all that can conquer it."

Padme smiled through her tears, reaching up to touch a droplet gathering on his lashes. "Perhaps there is a purpose for everything, Obi-Wan. You see beyond everything that seeks to confuse and disorient. You see the truth, while others let shrouds cover their eyes." She gripped his hand. "You see."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon ran his callused finger along the smooth surface, stained green and filled three-quarters of the way with a richly red wine.

Anakin was tracking Lorb, Obi-Wan was talking with the Senator.

He was alone.

The feeling left him cold and hollow inside. He sighed wearily, taking a large swallow.

For a long time, he had enjoyed the solitary state. Strove with every fiber of his stubborn being to be left by himself.

He realized that he could never truly be alone, of course. There were shadows and echoes, Xanatos' icy laughter slicing through his thoughts, Yoda's countless warnings repeating in his head, reminding him that the fault would always belong to him. 

Light and contentment were carried in a pair of painfully innocent, cerulean eyes. There were some who spoke of Obi-Wan Kenobi like he was a curse: clumsy, angry, awkward. But soon enough Qui-Gon discovered the comments were rooted in jealousy. For Obi-Wan was as near to perfect as anything could ever hope to be. But there was something amiss in those eyes, a need hidden in brightness, a yearning that beat in ocean-painted eyes.

Qui-Gon, in his usual pig-headed manner, refused to fulfill the meager wish of the devoted, worthy boy. For too long, he held Obi-Wan beyond arm's length, ever-critical and never affectionate.

Because the loneliness comforted him, the cold soothed his wounded soul. The heat of youthful passion pumped in Obi-Wan Kenobi. Too much warmth could leave you burned.

Qui-Gon couldn't afford to be scathed. He wouldn't survive another scorch after Xanatos.

And Obi-Wan suffered the ignorance, loving him despite it all.

Then, the Master couldn't push him away anymore. Their spirits melded, and they found a connection that surpassed the loneliness.

Now, without that bond, his heart was torn. Obi-Wan held the bits, ripped them with his parting words that day at the Healers.

Anakin was losing his focus, was spending wild nights stealing money from the less fortunate, shunning girls who lived on the fringes of poverty.

He was showing shades too dark for a Jedi.

Qui-Gon almost desired the remote existence of his past. Then he would not hurt this badly, would not grab for the sin-laden bottle, and seek solace in its numbing contents.

He stood, trudging stiffly to his room.

Somewhere, not far away, a familiar enemy was plotting, while the sky shifted black and gray, the moon spreading forlorn yellow across Naboo.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Lorb walked along the crumbling, empty street, slowing to take a swig of rather expensive brandy. 

A hand clamped down on his bulky shoulder, and Lorb wheeled around.

The figure that stood before him was awash with darkness, a cowl disguising his appearance. All that was visible was a pair of lips, parted slightly. His voice was hushed, and dripped with acid.

"I hear you work for Berrel."

Lorb backed up, the liquor glistening on his mouth. He was a stout man, with receding brown hair that wilted on his wide, round head. From his appearance, one would never guess he was significantly wealthy. "Where you hear that?"

The ominous lips curled. "Let's just say I'm a very attentive listener. I've come from very far to speak with you, Mr. Lorb. Perhaps come to some sort of…arrangement?"

Lorb snorted, thick fingers drumming on the neck of his bottle. "What makes you think I would want to? For star's sake, I can't even see your friggin' face."

A soft, unsettling laugh. "I have been trained well to conceal such things if the need arose. Trained _very_ well."

The haughtiness disappeared from Lorb's face. His bushy eyebrow cocked. "Trained? How you mean?"

"I'm a member of a very…elite…association. Recently, however, I have been doubting my staying power. You see, I fear I may be usurped."

Lorb swallowed a burp. "So? What's that got to do with me? Or Barris?"

Another cold chuckle. "Everything. With your help, I could be rid of this problem. Cleanly, effectively." His tone dropped. "I would love to do it myself, but there is too much risk involved. I want to keep in good stead with my Master. He is a very---determined---man. I would not want to disappoint him."

There was bald honesty in the figure's words, and Lorb motioned with his head to a nearby alley.

They entered the darker space. The plump man narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the elusive face.

"So what you're saying, mister, is that you want somebody knocked."

Lorb thought he saw the man stiffen.

"Yes." He rasped.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The sound of tranquil chimes filled the apartment, and Padme frowned, pulling her silken robe around her barely clothed body. Obi-Wan had been escorted to the hotel an hour ago. She was in the process of preparing for bed. 

Any arrival had to be checked by the guards, which lessened her anxiety while increasing her curiosity. She opened the heavy wooden door.

"Ani? What are you doing here?"

Anakin jerked a smile, bowing. His eyes raked quickly over her less-than-professional attire. "I'm come to return your credits, Padme." He gave her the intricate pouch of money. "I couldn't find Lorb."

There was disappointment in his voice. Padme smiled, touching his forearm. "That's alright, Ani. He's a devious little man. Probably getting drunk, or making a private deal. Did you want to come in for a moment?"

Anakin grinned, following her inside. 

Padme tucked the satchel into a golden, carved box, closed the lid, then joined the apprentice on the couch.

Anakin looked around. "This place is just beautiful, Padme."

She flushed. "Why thank you, Ani. It's one of my favorite hobbies."

His gaze fell on her, and a feeling of completion, as well as desire, consumed him. "Why did you want to talk to Knight Kenobi, if I may ask? Something about the investigation?"

Her eyes were unwavering, she leaned against her hand, smiling faintly. Curls lay as a perfect frame around her face. "No."

"Oh." A shaft of jealousy went through him. 

Padme caught the brief flash of envy. "I was talking to Obi-Wan about what happened on Naboo ten years ago."

__

What a surprise. He has to get sympathy no matter what. Everyone has to feel sorry for 'Poor Obi-Wan'.

"I was experiencing intense grief, and he gave me some wonderful advice." Those deep eyes twinkled. "He has adjusted so well. I could sense his strength."

Anakin smiled at her while his stomach turned. Then he took her hand. "Why were you grieving?"

Her eyes darted away. "For the lives lost during that battle. I was feeling responsible."

The Jedi's hold on the delicate hand tightened. "That's ridiculous, Padme. Do you realize how many lives you saved?" _As if anyone's life was as important as yours._

Padme nodded, scrubbing at unbidden tears. "That's what Obi-Wan told me." She sniffled. "Still, their deaths haunt me. But I know I will carry them with me. Their sacrifices aren't forgotten. I work to improve their home, in their memory." She laughed emptily. "I know it must sound cheesy, and awful, but I think now that's why I was saved from death that day."

Anakin leaned forward. "It doesn't sound awful, Padme. It sounds…perfect." Then, he pressed his mouth to hers.

This time, Padme didn't pull away. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

Qui-Gon moved to the window, rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

This date had always held special significance. It was the day when he would wake early, and fix a large, extravagant breakfast. The ceiling was crowded with multi-colored balloons. Bits of bright paper littered the floor. And a single, wrapped present was sat in the middle of the table.

He would sneak into his room, shake his bare shoulder, smiling madly.

The Padawan would grumble and turn to his other side, burrowing under the covers.

Until he realized just what day it was. Then he was a flash, a streak from the bedroom to the kitchen.

Qui-Gon would load the plates down with food. They scarfed the delectable dishes down, without regard to their usual politeness during meals.

Then they moved to the main room, where candles cast gentle amber light, and together, they meditated for hours.

Lastly, when the sun finally rested beneath the horizon, Obi-Wan opened his birthday present.

Qui-Gon would watch the innocent delight brighten the aquamarine eyes, would gladly enfold the thankful apprentice in his fatherly embrace.

Today was Obi-Wan's birthday.

He hoped, somewhere in this huge Temple, his former Padawan, his eternal son, was happy.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan moved from the door to his quarters listlessly, fingers curled around his robe. 

He flopped onto his sleepcouch, in a careless way that strangely maintained his regular grace, and peeled off his tunic layers.

The cool air caressed his sweaty, golden skin, easing the ill heat within him.

Then, he stretched out on the lavishly dressed bed, while he himself was clad in only loose, tan leggings.

He tucked his arms under his head, and released a long, suffering sigh.

He had been more than glad to help lessen the Senator's grief. Her burden was heavy, and Obi-Wan knew such a compassionate soul did not deserve to bear the weight.

But her sad admittance had taken him back to a bitter, painful place. A time cursed with whispers of betrayal and an agony that festered in his heart. 

She spoke of that day, with a voice that held the same sorrowful intone he heard in his thoughts, an identical bleeding of sheer despondency. It was a relief to hear that maybe he wasn't alone in this after all.

An odd, half-depressed, half-consoled smile touched his lips. Obi-Wan slipped to sleep, ginger hair spreading soft, limp spikes on the pillow, a hand laying on the bare, smooth stomach, with the knowledge that he had gained a true, understanding friend.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Lorb stopped at Theed Plaza, and craned his thick neck to look up at the looming giant of a building. It gleamed beautifully against the midnight light.

__

Or, he mused with a sly smirk, _Maybe the promise of money shining out at me._

He patted the large lump of credits in his pocket. _Tomorrow._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme's hand clasped to Anakin's jaw line tenderly as she kissed him.

His masculine, faintly oceanic, cologne filled her senses, as did the feel of his rough tunic, the contrasting softness of his mouth.

She paused to smile, running her fingers through his thick, sandy hair, gazing at his face.

Anakin grinned. "What?" He asked quietly.

Padme shook her head, moving curls. Her eyes were contemplative. "I-I'm not supposed to be doing this. You're not supposed to be doing this, Ani."

Anakin traced his finger down her arm, staring at her. "The Force has beckoned me."

Padme giggled, black lashes brushing against her milky skin. "It has not!"

The apprentice shrugged. "Well, _something_ is beckoning me." 

He kissed her again.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

Mejant sat the cake on the table, taking a step back to marvel quickly at her handiwork.

Obi-Wan inhaled. A grin spread on his face. "It smells wonderful, Love. I'm drooling."

She tittered, moving to stand behind him. She placed her thin hands on his shoulders and brushed her round chin against the ginger bristles of his hair. "Really?"

Obi-Wan locked their fingers loosely. "Really." He said softly, harmonious voice laced with affection. "I've never had such a great cake like this."

Mejant dropped her head to his shoulder. "Never?"

Dark clouds passed over the vacant orbs. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, returning his face to its excited expression. "Never like this."

The young woman pecked his cheek, her long, raven hair spilling to her waist. "You deserve it, Obi. And so much more."

Obi-Wan smiled, swallowing down the tight sobs rising in his throat, and wrapped her in his arms.

Mejant frowned. "Obi? Are you alright?" She tilted her head. "I know it must be--difficult---"

He pressed his finger against her lips before running his hand down her forehead, caressing her cheeks. 

Mejant held her breath.

Obi-Wan blinked, and while his eyes were closed for the briefest of moments, a damp film seemed to have formed over them. They twinkled with melancholy in the muted light. "I'm fine, Mejant. I have you. What else do I need?"

It was meant to be rhetorical, she knew, but as they ate, the true answer gnawed at her, as it must be gnawing at him.

"Happy birthday." She murmured.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon didn't bother to pull the drapes back, letting the room wallow in murky gray. Threads of fresh sunlight streaked across the walls, and made an abbreviated stay on the unshaven face as he walked to the kitchen unit.

Siron-7 was still deactivated in a corner, segmented body bent, willowy tube-arms dangling.

He smirked, shaking his head. 

The liquor had collected warmly in his belly last night, and left him drowsy and blissfully numb. A bed had never felt quite so soft, a pillow so cushioned, as when he laid upon them afterwards.

He slept, deeply and without waking, dreamless.

The unconscious hours were not exactly energizing, for there was a foggy ache hovering around his head, but it _was_ a relief to escape.

Qui-Gon took a tentative sip of the steaming tea, sucking on his lip when the heat slightly burned.

Habitually, he sent a probe through the Force, throughout the apartment.

He sensed Obi-Wan's heavily buried aura, knew he was resting. Nothing came from Anakin's room, and the Master's forehead crinkled.

__

Anakin never came back?

There was no danger in the apprentice's small mission, since Qui-Gon never felt a scintilla of fear nor cry for help through their bond. Not at all.

He set the expensive cup down, hurrying to his own quarters. The man yanked his belt from the pile of clothes on the floor.

He held the commlink to his mouth.

"Anakin, where are you? Padawan!"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Shafts of warmth shone into the room, and Anakin released a muffled moan, rubbing at his face.

His long, gangly body was curled tightly in on itself. A velour pillow was pressed against his cheek. He saw the small, dark bloom of drool on the material, and flushed, turning it over.

Padme was laying against the opposite couch arm. She was buried deep within the comfort of her silken, white robe, slender legs tucked, crystalline face tranquil.

Anakin carefully sat up, readjusting his wrinkled tunics. In the soft glow of morning, Padme was bathed in a rare, angelic light that trembled delicately, her lashes casting odd shadow beneath her closed eyes.

That strong love pulsed in him, and Anakin could not help but brush his fingertips lightly across her curled, auburn locks.

She jerked up, hands clutching at the sofa, squinting at the sudden brightness.

Anakin only smiled at her. "Sleep well?" He stretched.

Padme pulled her robe tighter around, hiding the crimson nightgown beneath. "I shouldn't have done that."

He frowned. "Done what? We fell asleep, Padme. It was completely innocent."

Padme shook her head, playing with her lip nervously.

For a moment, the Jedi was surprised to see such a funny habit displayed by one so dignified, and, well, _political_. She hardly looked her twenty four years, but it was endearing, as everything about Padme Amidala was. "What's wrong?"

She stood abruptly, moving to sit on the lofty chair far across from him. "What's wrong Ani is that your Master is going to…get the…wrong idea…about what happened here."

"Oh." Anakin looked away, thinking. Then he gazed openly at her again. "I'll just explain it to him." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm an adult. You're an adult. What business is it of his?"

A buzz pierced through the excited conversation, and the apprentice flipped on his communicator.

"Master?"

The eloquent voice reverberated from the machine. "Anakin, where have you been?" He was on the edge of sharp reprimand.

"I couldn't find Lorb, Master. I came to return Padme her credits, and we started talking about the investigation. We must've dozed off."

Padme sat straighter, touching her roiling stomach. She was amazed at the ease and flair Anakin had as he lied. Not one word was spoken about the mission the night before, yet, from the virtuous tint to his voice, it sounded like pure truth.

Qui-Gon paused. "So…you found no trace of Lorb?"

Anakin relaxed a fraction, smiling complacently. "None at all."

"Oh.----Well, you and the Senator can meet us at the Center, in say, an hour?"

"Of course, Master."

"That's fine." 

The voice cut off, and Anakin slid the commlink back in his belt.

Padme was shaking her head. "How do you do it, Ani?"

Anakin grinned.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stood, fists on his hips, a distant, glassy film coating his sapphire eyes. He believed his Padawan when the boy said it had been a sinless mistake, but still, there was an aloofness to him, an unneeded, tiny waver in an otherwise confident inflection.

Naboo was ushering in the new day with a luscious beauty, and the Master found he had briefly wondered if it was painted with the mellow tone of watercolor. The windows shared a view of mild strokes and vibrant swirls. It was the haven of a cruel and unforgiving Universe---he wanted to protect it. 

There were so many alliances that he pledged to, so many he felt obligated to guard from danger.

He scrubbed at his chin wearily.

Obi-Wan shuffled into the room, the soft edges of dawn touching him lovingly. But his face held fast to that pale ghost, and his eyes were encased in thick, black rings. 

Qui-Gon watched him approach, and something in his chest contracted. Obi-Wan was battered, that much he had known long before. Now, his scars looked deeper, the fresher ones etched raggedly in his flesh.

There were a lot of them.

__

So many…

He narrowed his gaze.

__

Too many. There weren't that many. This doesn't make---

Qui-Gon blinked, and the ugly marks were gone, the pallor of the Knight healthier.

The man shook his head, blinking rapidly, confused by the remarkable, impossible, _staggering_ recovery.

And realized they had never really been there to begin with.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme clipped on the diamond teardrop earring, gazing vapidly at her reflection, eyes unfocused, looking to the recent past with the irritating clarity of hindsight.

On any other night, she wouldn't have let him in, would have accepted the credits, but then politely closed the door, with a modest smile.

That had not happened. She allowed Anakin entrance, dried tears stinging her, and painful memories grating in her mind.

Obi-Wan had comforted her, with his fluid, soft, understanding… thankless…manner, giving without taking, smiling with his entire spirit, with all that was clean and compassionate in him. 

Not expecting anything in return. 

But Anakin had not pressed her for anything, either, Padme had to remind herself, as she smoothed her gray lace gown that rippled at her ankles. Her pristine shoes glittered as the identical jewels dangling from her ears.

Her hair was curled and hung free, save for two wavy strands that met at the base of her skull, attached by a breathtaking barrette.

It was, maybe, her favorite piece out of her vast wardrobe.

She wasn't quite sure why she was compelled to wear it, to apply her makeup with unusually meticulous care, rouging her cheeks to create an exaggerated blush, and deeply staining her lips crimson. Smoky shadows were cast over her eyes, and spread carefully on the lids.

And then, decked out completely, she would join Ani, in his plain brown Jedi garb.

It was an unfair scrutiny, for appearance mattered naught, when two hearts beneath beat in what could be melodious unison.

Perhaps, if everything else, the trappings of offices, the inhibitions, were ripped away, they could hear it, and know for sure.

Then, maybe she could silence her own restlessness.

Anakin was a good man. A Jedi, for stars' sake, a guardian of the entire galaxy. The very description of a hero.

He had spoken of love; she had thought of it.

But did either of them actually feel it?

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin smiled when the door opened, and Padme immerged, beautifully dressed, with her face immaculate. He wanted her, in every way, at that moment.

But for now, he could only take her arm, and dream of a possible future.

"You look…amazing." He said breathlessly.

Padme flushed, eyelashes falling to stroke her cheeks. "Ani."

They strolled along the street, not bothering to call for transport, all the protection the Senator needed provided by the attentive Jedi.

The sun washed her skin, and Anakin couldn't believe how often he was entranced by her. "How are you, Padme?" His tone was quiet, and the woman knew what he was referring to.

She looked up at him. "I am better, Ani. The pain is still there, as I know it always will be, but you and Obi-Wan have made it…bearable. You showed me a side I never would have seen."

Anakin's free hand tensed. _Obi-Wan? What could he have done? I stayed the whole damn night with her…what could he have done?! _"I care for you, Padme. I never want you to be in pain."

Padme gripped his arm a bit tighter. "And I care about you too, Ani. You've been a great friend to me, from the time we met."

Anakin chuckled, and it was a light, smoother sound. "I remember seeing you, and thinking I would marry you. A nine year old, wanting to marry a Queen."

The Senator smiled ruefully. "You were so cute, with your smudged face and long, sandy hair. So brave, even as a tiny boy."

Anakin sealed his eyes, the sound of her voice flowing through his mind, the same sweet vocals that called to him on Tatooine, that had calmed the darkness in him ever since. "I said you were an angel." He murmured.

Padme giggled. "Yes, I remember. It's the nicest thing I think anyone has ever said to me, Ani. Because you were innocent, you were just a child. A child's words are the purest, most beautiful, the most _truthful_ you can ever hear."

He smirked at her, then looked away, studying an ornate fountain as they walked.

Padme's gaze remained on him, troubled and clouded with faint worry. _He is not a child anymore._ Her fingers drummed slowly on his arm. _And he can't always speak the truth. _

Then his striking eyes were on her again. "I love you, you know." He said quietly.

She hesitated, then smiled, lips shining. "I know." 

"It scares me to think that someone would want to hurt you, Padme. And it makes me angry. So angry. You're wonderful. Why would anyone want to destroy that?"

Her belly fluttered, and she swallowed, that fear stirring in her. "I…I don't know. Politicians have many enemies, Ani. We're targets." She shook her head, and spoke in a hushed, desolate tone. "Always targets."

Anakin slipped his arm from hers, and draped it securely around her small shoulders. "Master Qui-Gon tells me not to trust them. Politicians. He says they have hidden agendas, that they're self-interests outweigh their want for the greater good." He paused before grunting, looking at her intently. "I don't believe him, Padme. Because you're perfect, and you're a politician." His focus journeyed to the sky. But a strange murkiness stained his eyes, the sunlight not touching them, leaving the blue nearly black. "He's not always right. My Master's wrong…a lot…I've noticed."

Padme watched him tenderly. "He's only trying to protect you. There _are _politicians with those vices, Ani. I've known many of them. And I'm sure he's known more than I have."

Anakin shrugged. "Well, the ones I know have all been great."

Padme cocked an eyebrow. "Who have you known well?"

"You, of course. And Chancellor Palpatine."

"You know the Chancellor?"

He nodded. "He's nothing like Master says. He encourages me, he tells me what I need to hear."

Padme wondered silently what Anakin needed to hear. And why Palpatine could tell him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, glancing at Obi-Wan discreetly.

He felt a bit silly, remembering that he could stare directly at him, and the Knight would be unaware. Sometimes, he expected Obi-Wan to make one of his dry, funny, deliciously offhand remarks, a wild grin lighting his face, waiting for what he always waited for.

For Qui-Gon to laugh in turn, to approve, to give the joke worth.

And the Master would chuckle. Often harder than he wanted, only so he could watch the delight dance in cerulean eyes. 

Now, there was no dance, not even a somber waltz. Listless movements without music.

Silence pressing in on him. He couldn't stand the stark quiet, an atmosphere devoid of that much-beloved voice. He had gone so long without hearing it. Qui-Gon craved the sound.

"Anakin had no success last night." _On a mission level, I should say. _He thought uncomfortably. "Which means Lorb could have very well been meeting his next client."

Obi-Wan just nodded, his brow collecting to form that familiar crease.

"He returned the credits to Senator Amidala, and spent the night discussing the investigation with her. I hope that helps us gain some ground today."

Again, a non-committal nod, expression unchanged.

Qui-Gon sighed, glancing around arbitrarily, trying to recall the time when he had been at ease with Obi-Wan, when they could speak of any topic. When Obi-Wan would actually respond.

Obi-Wan tugged his cloak closer around him and coughed lightly. "It seems to me that Senator Amidala would require more protection. Especially after both Ileana and Mr. Vininon spoke of assassination plans."

"Anakin is prepared for such attacks. It is unlikely that they would try something in the daytime, in a public place, while she is in Jedi company, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan paused a moment, thinking it over. "Yes, but a sniper wouldn't have much of a problem. One clean, direct hit---"

"Anakin would sense that." He countered crisply. 

"He is a young apprentice, Master Jinn. And not immune to mistakes."

Qui-Gon felt a mild anger thrum in his fingers. "I am well aware that apprentices are not immune to mistakes."

If he thought that skewering observation would silence the Knight, he was wrong. Obi-Wan didn't seem to even register the comment. "Yet you are very trusting in yours, when he has a Senator's life in his hands."

The fire suddenly extinguished in the Master. He smiled, fine wrinkles streaking from the corners of his eyes. "Always ready for a good argument, aren't you?"

But the younger man didn't follow the placid transition. "Always ready to change the subject when the argument isn't going your way, aren't you?"

This hit the mark squarely, and Qui-Gon didn't speak for many minutes. He searched for any satisfaction in Obi-Wan, a weak feeling through the Force, and found nothing. If this had been a game to see who could come out on top, who could show their supremacy, Obi-Wan didn't know they were playing. 

And Qui-Gon knew this. It was not in the man's nature to aim to hurt, or prove any superiority over anyone else. Obi-Wan was simply of too kind a temperament.

He talked softly then. "The o-other night, you talked to me. Really talked to me."

Obi-Wan stiffened, head moving a bit away from Qui-Gon's voice. "I---was very ill. I would have talked to anyone."

"Maybe." He swallowed, digging his hands into his pockets. "But, I thought it was, I mean it felt like… a start."

Obi-Wan's eyes almost looked to be unharmed, as they seemed to pierce the Master's gaze. "A start to what?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

He had promised himself he would not be afraid.

There had been countless exercises drilled into every initiate. Blindfolds wrapped around their eyes, the lights switched off.

Sightless, Obi-Wan had been forced to deflect blaster bolts, sometimes even living, breathing assailants. 

And he fared well. When the cloth was removed from his face, the young Kenobi, huffing and sweating, would see the disarmed droids, know he had succeeded.

Know that the blindfold would always come off.

It had taken considerable time to adjust to this new existence. Not just his impairment, though that had been harsh and difficult. He had to listen closely, be in constant sync with the Force's varying levels, sensitive to the slightest movement. Brand the layout of rooms in his mind.

But filling the gaping hole in his soul…that was the most brutal challenge. It was when he was completely alone that he realized the utter dependence he possessed for Qui-Gon Jinn. The small things that were gone. Like the evening tea after an exhausting spar, or spurts of spiced cologne in the air. The rooms devoid of life, thick with a tense stillness. 

Obi-Wan was startled by these discoveries. How could a man who would abandon his apprentice in the climax of terrible battle leave such sadness…remorse…in his departure? Obi-Wan had convinced himself everything had been an elaborate lie. The apparent love was counterfeit, the bond was phony, the dear friendship was nothing but a forced connection Qui-Gon was pushed unwillingly into.

That the Sith attack came at the cusp of the Master's annoyance with his unworthy apprentice. He couldn't take the incompetence anymore, and fled before he could witness Obi-Wan fail…again.

He ran to Skywalker, the Chosen One. 

And his supposed sorrow for Obi-Wan's handicap was a half-hearted attempt to leave things settled rather nicely before moving on.

Qui-Gon Jinn had moved on.

Obi-Wan swallowed the lump in his throat, and breathed in the scent of engine and fuel. 

He was leaving. On his first official mission since Naboo. An assignment, albeit simple, that would mark the beginning of his career as a Knight.

Solo. Alone. Solitary.

It was what he wanted. He was the one who severed the last, fraying ties to his former Master. 

He who refused both Mejant and Bant's insistences that they accompany him to the hangar. 

"I'm perfectly fine going by myself." He had said.

He was_ fine, was walking to the ramp, was solid…_

"Leaving today as well?"

Obi-Wan bit his lip to silence a curse, reminded himself he was not afraid, could not be touched. "Good observation, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon bristled at the formal title, but remained cool, a hand on Anakin's small shoulder. "I hear this is to be your first mission." He remarked.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it."

"Anakin is to embark on his first mission. To Mabari 2."

Obi-Wan felt a coldness rush through his chest, and an ice covered those barren eyes. Mabari 2, where he had watched his Master receive an honorary medal, only to have the award be draped around his neck an hour later, in their quarters, Qui-Gon telling him that Obi-Wan was who truly earned it…. "Well, I hope it is memorable for him." As it was for me. Make your new memories, Qui-Gon, let them replace the old. 

I intend to.

__

Anakin grinned. "I hope it's wizard."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Wizard. That's a word you don't hear too often on Coruscant."

Obi-Wan straightened. "I have to leave now." He walked briskly up the ramp, shedding his careful gait, and disappeared inside the sealed ship.

He sank onto the slick floor, pinning his knees to his chest, suddenly exhausted.

I will not be afraid. I am Jedi. I am not afraid.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The day was spent in nearly constant silence, permeated only by a few self-directed murmurs or a quick question, followed by quiet answer.

There were stacks of notes taken. The day was, as Padme called it, 'for collecting'. 

And, hours later, the three Jedi and Senator had collected their fill. They memorized streets, names, descriptions, hours when the kidnappings peaked, and bits of Ileana's reports.

Anakin pushed a data pad away, rubbing his eyes. "I don't understand why we had to spend an entire day looking over this stuff…again."

Qui-Gon was opening his mouth to wearily respond when Padme, who was sitting so close to the Padawan that their elbows lightly touched, spoke. "It seems tiresome, Ani, but unless we're very, very well-informed, we could reach dead ends at crucial moments. Do you know what I mean?"

His brow began to furrow, but as he gazed at her, his frustration dissipated. "I'm sorry, Padme. I just can't stand…not taking action."

She smiled. "It is irritating, knowing that those men are suffering. But if we do this right, we can stop it."

Qui-Gon stood, relieving muscles cramped from many hours of sitting. "The Senator is right, Anakin. Tomorrow, the investigation will greatly intensify. We needed this day to prepare." He hid a yawn behind a massive hand. "And we need tonight to rest."

Padme stretched her arms. "That's for sure."

Obi-Wan was beneath a lamp that spilled warm amber light on his face, leaving his features fluid and gentle. "What _is_ the plan for tomorrow, Milady?"

__

Like you'll be much help. Anakin mused snidely. _Like you're ever much help._

She held a few of the data pads against her chest, regarding the Knight with fond eyes. "I would like two of you to investigate the area surrounding the prison, dressed in regular street clothes, look for any weaknesses in their security on that level."

She turned to Qui-Gon. "I want to infiltrate it soon. But I would like to have your input, of course, on how exactly it should be done. Perhaps we could discuss it tomorrow?"

The Master nodded. "We can while Anakin and Obi-Wan search the area." He waited for the negative response in the Force, certain there would be sour attitude, but the flow was largely unchanged. He smiled inwardly. _Anakin is improving. Maybe my talks with him have helped._

Anakin sighed. He was irked that tomorrow's arrangements separated him from Padme, but it surely wouldn't take long for him to complete the task. 

And, he always had her in his thoughts.

Qui-Gon was probably glad of the teaming. He, in his deluded affection of the useless Kenobi, would see it as an opportunity for the two to learn more about one another.

Anakin knew enough about Obi-Wan. He wasn't sure he could tolerate more.

Padme drew Obi-Wan beside her, speaking quietly to him. 

The apprentice raised guarded eyes to watch them. _But the sooner he can be away from my Padme, the better._

Qui-Gon's back ached, and he longed for respite. This entire mission was wearying. For some reason, he wished it would end.

The dark swirls in the Force were disconcerting, to say the least.

He would speak to Obi-Wan about it later, he resolved.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel studied the holo again, one dark brow raised. Lorb shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His beefy hands braced his hips. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Berrel handed the impatient man the tattered photo, then leaned back in his slick leather chair. "He's about the best candidate for this as I could hope." Shadow leeched the light from his rough face. "Which makes me wonder. Why would you want to kill him?"

Lorb shrugged. "That's what the guy wanted. To have 'im knocked. He had the money to back it up, too. Showed it to me right there."

Berrel thought for a moment, dangerous intelligence stirring in his eyes. A smile curved his lips. "So he wants this guy out of the picture?"

"Yeah-huh."

He grabbed the holo. "Well, how would he know the difference between killing and…relocating?"

Lorb quirked his thick lips. "Wouldn't, I guess."

Berrel tapped his fingers together idly. "I've got some pretty profitable killers here, I'll tell ya, Lorb. But this guy's got the potential to earn me…" His eyes widened, and he threw his hands forward with a laugh. "A helluva lot."

"You?"

Berrel chuckled. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll have your cut. Just as soon as you bring him here…relatively unharmed." He leaned closer, elbows resting on the desk, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "I don't want any time wasted. Tell them what needs to be done. No dallying, alright?"

Lorb nodded. "I'm supposda get 'im tonight."

"No, no, no. Not tonight."

"Why?"

He snapped the round head with two strong fingers. "_Because,_ you already have plans. What, did you forget?"

There was searching evident in his eyes, as Lorb tried to recall his latest task. He avoided the other man's intense gaze. "Oh, yeah, that guy. Why don't ya just have one of the zombies do it?"

Berrel ran his tongue along his teeth. "The 'zombies' aren't needed for that. This is just a quick hit. I mean…the guy's as good as dead anyway. You remember him. That Vininon bastard that ran off?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

When the four reached Theed Plaza, Qui-Gon was anxious to settle in the comfort of his bed. But, as his eyes shifted between the Senator and his apprentice, he realized their intentions were far different for the night. 

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, looked painfully weary. Deep lines of exhaustion were carved into his visage. The weak, yet lingering, illness was a mist over his paling skin. He was recovering, that was certain, but healing took time.

The Master had the sudden urge to allow that long-suffering, valiant body respite, to close unfocused eyes, and let the divine spirit within be cradled in the soft arms of the Force, to carry him away. If only for a few hours.

Anakin was wired, a bright smile on his immature face, flickers of lightning seeming to flash in dark blue eyes, adhered to the luminous Amidala.

Padme glanced at the hotel café, then back to the others. "Would anyone like to join me for a drink, or late meal? I'm a bit too anxious to sleep now."

Anakin immediately accepted the invitation, not even throwing a quick look at his Master to assure it would be permitted.

Qui-Gon blew a tired sigh, shaking his head politely. "Thank you, Senator, but I must retire for the evening."

Obi-Wan immerged from his almost catatonic stupor and gave a similar response.

Padme appeared genuinely disappointed. "Well, your absence will surely be missed, my friends." She smiled, and grasped their hands for a heartbeat.

Qui-Gon watched the pair walk toward the elaborately lit café. He noticed Obi-Wan starting to the lift, and took long, graceful steps to catch up.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ 

__

"Master?"

The man's brilliant eyes were glazed, staring at something engaging, but totally invisible to the young apprentice. An expression- it could have been a smile, just as easily a grimace- twisted those regal, leonine features. When the ship rumbled to life, Anakin gripped his seat with stubby fingers, before pride caused those same fingers to come together on his lap.

He sat, perfectly still, save his legs that swung in show of his impatience. "Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon was gazing off into the bland cityscape.

Anakin wondered if the Master could even see the towering buildings or zooming cloud cars. 

He bit down on his lip, a habit grown on Tatooine, one that could simply not be shed, even after his Master's insistence that such an act gave the impression of immaturity. Well at least I answer someone when they talk to me! _"Master, are you okay?"_

Finally, thankfully, the man turned to the much smaller boy. But that vacuous gloss was spread thickly over his eyes. "I'm just fine, Ani."

Anakin felt compelled to drop his own eyes to the floor. "Good."

A long moment passed before the Master spoke. "Are you okay?"

Relief illuminated his small face. "Yeah. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it!"

A chuckle was muffled by Qui-Gon's closed mouth.

Anakin studied his booted feet, then gathered enough courage to look at his Master directly. "How come Knight Kenobi acts so…mean to you?"

The man swallowed his surprise, actually struggling to retain his solemn demeanor. "Why would you say that?"

Anakin's eyes, for all their charm and innocence, were intense, painted in the strange color of twilight. "Just the way he is around you, Master. Like he can't stand to be near you."

A callused hand drifted to Qui-Gon's chest, as his heart reacted to the blunt words. He touched Anakin's shoulder briefly. "He probably can't stand to be around me, Ani. I understand. I've done things…that hurt him."

Anakin shook his head feverishly. "No, Master. He's the one that hurts you. He's the bad one."

Qui-Gon gathered a steadying breath. "Ani, don't say that."

"But it's true. I heard some initiates--at another table-- talking about him. They said he ran away from the Jedi right after he started as your Padawan. He left you, Master. And now, he thinks he can act mean to you?"

The older Jedi was a bit disconcerted by the anger he heard broiling in the voice. "He was a child then. He came back, and I forgave him. It hurt him for a long time, but we both recovered from that."

Anakin leaned against the seat, crossing his arms, looking more like a pouting adolescent than a student of the Jedi Order. "He's still bad. I don't like him. He makes you…so…" He raised huge eyes, rimmed with worry, to Qui-Gon. "Sad."

Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around Anakin. "If I'm sad, Ani, its only because I know he is. That's the only reason I would ever hurt."

Anakin laid his head on the sturdy chest. "You're my Master." He murmured. "I won't make you sad." And you can forget all about him.

__

Qui-Gon pressed a light kiss into sandy spikes. "I hope not."

No matter the happiness this new student gave him, nothing could completely chase the lost shadow from the Master's soul. It was his duty to teach this boy, to raise his Padawan to be a Jedi.

The greatest of them all, the legend boasted.

His duty, then, was to shield Anakin from pain.

He should not have to feel mine.

__

It was then that Qui-Gon Jinn vowed to keep any further contact with Obi-Wan (though he was sure the Knight wouldn't be willing to have any contact anyway) a secret from his young apprentice.

Because he could not banish the presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi from his mind.

It would destroy him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon threw his hand out, using the Force to separate the lift doors before they could close Obi-Wan in. 

Obi-Wan sighed, though his stoic demeanor never wavered, hands folded beneath billowing cloak sleeves. He heard the Master step inside, and a few moments later, the doors sealing.

Immediately, an anxious silence swallowed up the claustrophobic space. 

Qui-Gon glanced at his former apprentice. He was standing straight, the deep brown robe spilling to the floor worn with a peculiar, original grace unfitting such coarse and dull attire. His hair gleamed soft from the artificial light above, and framed his face in red-gold splendor. 

Qui-Gon had often found, in their times together, that he was struck dumb by Obi-Wan's beauty, the kind that attracted lingering looks and wider smiles, as well as that which radiated from his being. The lovely spirit, untainted, that could be warding off a fierce enemy one moment, and cradling a frightened child the next. 

The Master knew he had nothing to do with the remarkableness of this man. It was all Obi-Wan. It was who he was. Someone who could fill an entire life, if that person was willing to accept.

And the older man had to wonder if he had been aware this entire time. If so, why would he deject that fragile, but somehow powerful, soul? Why had he fled at the climax of danger? Why did he leave his dear Padawan to die?

There was no answer. He had searched the deepest caverns of his mind, but nothing could offer sufficient response to save him from these horrible musings. 

Obi-Wan coughed dryly into his hand, raising Qui-Gon from his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, refusing to believe the action was a result of nerves. "Are you feeling better today?"

"Yes."

The clipped reply was automatic. Qui-Gon battled the frustration climbing in him. "Have you slept well?"

His countenance was sculpted of stone. "Yes."

He expected the quiet to return, but Obi-Wan shifted slightly, turning his head toward Qui-Gon. "I remembered something today. I haven't thought of it in so long, I must have repressed it. But now its so clear in my head---I can't think of anything else."

Qui-Gon stared raptly at him, too intrigued to register the surprise of actual sentences being spoken to him. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, and if felt like his lungs would burst. He took a breath. "I---Before the battle of Naboo---"

He was cut off the cheerful ping of the lift, as the doors slid open.

They walked into the hall, and Qui-Gon was silent, inviting, _needing_ Obi-Wan to continue.

And he did. "I had this dream. But it wasn't like a dream. You know, where things are nonsensical and blurred."

Qui-Gon began to nod, then caught himself. "Yes."

"It was as if I were experiencing the dream, and it was real. There was no waking, because I thought I was conscious. It was the Sith---the same fight…only you didn't leave…and you…" The last word was cracked. "Died."

Qui-Gon was still silent.

Obi-Wan took another breath. "I was so scared after that. But I didn't think there was a way to escape the battle. If I explained it to you, it wouldn't have stopped you that day. So when the Sith attacked us, I tried my best, my very best, with everything in me, to protect you." He paused, teeth clenching. "Then you left, and I thought---I thought it was because you had the same premonition, as we shared sometimes in the past. And when I was…injured…I lay there, and I believed it was some sort of exchange. You were saved---and I had to be punished in exchange for your spared life."

They were inside the hotel room by now, and Qui-Gon hadn't bothered to switch on the lights. Obi-Wan was illuminated by the moon glow, and the tears quivering in dead eyes sparkled.

Qui-Gon laid his hand on Obi-Wan's back.

Obi-Wan shuddered, a single bead falling from his lashes, spreading a stream down his cheek. "I need to know…if you had that dream."

Qui-Gon touched the gentle cleft of his chin. "No." He whispered. "I never did."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme took a short sip from her tea, flavor heightened by drops of syrupy fruit, her eyes trained on the Jedi Padawan from the delicate shroud of long, curled lashes. 

Anakin's hand engulfed his glass, reminding the Senator faintly of his Master, with those thick fingers and massive palms. She imagined her companion growing in that fashion. Tall, and nobly built, with squared shoulders and a well-muscled body. 

She chided herself---half-heartedly---for the inappropriate thought, and was compelled to stir up distracting conversation. "Tell me something about your life, Ani."

He actually appeared to blush, and an innocence long since shed returned as a glitter in his attentive gaze. "Okay." He laughed in an embarrassed rush. "What do you wanna know?"

She smiled, and shrugged, the remnants of her beverage gleaming on her lips. "I don't know. Just something."

Padme Amidala was full of surprises, and Anakin was completely knowledgeable of that, leaving him grinning with wild fondness at her. "Well, once I scorched my Master's beard when we were sparring. The hair was so burnt it had to be shaved. And every time we went through the Temple halls, he got about ten comments about how much younger he looked."

She tittered around the rim of her drink.

Anakin chuckled. "He got so fed up, he told me he wasn't going to leave the apartment until his beard was totally restored."

Padme covered her mouth with a hand, eyes dancing with laughter. "He was that upset?"

Anakin nodded. "I tried to convince him it was a compliment, but he said he wanted to be taken seriously, and facial hair lent a…what did he call it? Um, a 'majestic' quality to him."

Padme was supremely glad her flask was empty. It would not sit well with her supporters if word spread she sprayed a mouthful of tea across the stately hotel café. "Oh…stars! He really said that?"

"_Oh yeah._" Anakin cocked his eyebrows to animate. "And then made me swear I would never tell anyone what he said."

She laughed again, and the cloying sound drifted up like gusts of willow wisps. "He sounds a lot funnier than he acts."

Anakin's face softened. "Yeah." He smiled. "If you're lucky enough to know him-really know him---you'd never be able to forget him. You wouldn't want to."

Padme laid her hand on his arm. "I hope I get to see that side of him."

His reflective, loving mood changed with the remark. The humor had fled him, he stared at her with masked hurt beating underneath. "These days, that side is rare. He's been…occupied."

Padme frowned. "Why? What could be more important to him than you?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan's breath caught sharply. "Oh." He managed to say with a husky, but not overly shocked, tone. 

Qui-Gon held onto the slumping shoulders loosely, finding he could not bring himself to grasp onto this man with any vigor, for fear the paled Knight would break.

For a few seconds, the only sound was Obi-Wan's breathing. Then, he lifted his head, and stepped out of the feather-light contact. The weariness was heavy around him. "I'm going to lay down." 

It was a blunt and disappointing reaction, as though these revelations had not stirred any of the dormant emotions in his heart. 

Qui-Gon wanted something, anything. A smile, or tear, even another smash in the nose.

Not this tired acceptance.

Obi-Wan trudged stiffly into his room, without the caution or necessary precision of the blind.

The aging man stood, dumbly and stalled, before moving to the kitchen area.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

For once, Anakin's eyes dropped from the radiant Senator, and apparently became enthralled with the melting ice in his glass. 

Padme laid her hand against his cheek, causing him to elevate his gaze, if reluctantly. "Ani, answer me."

Anakin swallowed. The heat of her fingers warmed him, and he smiled. "It's nothing, Padme. Just forget about it."

She shook her head. "Ani, it's me. You can tell me the truth, and I won't judge you." Padme leaned forward, and brushed a light kiss on his cheek where her hand had been. "I care about you. And I only want to help."

Anakin's eyes were bright with joy. _She kissed me._ All at once, the twilight in his mind was snuffed out, as her endearment filled him. "Okay. I think my Master cares more about---someone else."

Padme laced her fingers, and rested her chin upon them. "Who?" She asked very softly.

He released a heavy breath. "Obi-Wan."

"And why do you think that?"

Anakin swallowed. "Because…Ever since I came to the Temple, whenever someone mentioned Obi-Wan, or Master saw him, he was…" His face was carved in grim remembrance. "Distracted."

To his surprise, Padme just smiled. Her voice was lyrical, gentle. "Of course he would be, Ani. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were friends for years. Master and apprentice. They were everything to each other…At least, that's what I understand about the relationship Jedi teacher and student have.

"The way their partnership ended---was harsh. Obi-Wan," And there was no mistaking the affection that name carried for her, "Was in pain. I don't know if he blamed Qui-Gon, but it still destroyed their connection. That doesn't mean it destroyed Qui-Gon's love for him."

Anakin's jaw set, and he had to look away as she went on.

"When two people lose touch, they can continue to hold feelings for each other." She tenderly placed her hand on his arm. "I didn't see you for ten years, Ani. But I thought of you."

He smiled. "Really?"

She nodded. "What does Qui-Gon mean to you?"

"He's…like my father."

Padme's eyes glinted knowingly. "And you're like his son. So, how do you think Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan felt?"

He didn't answer.

"The same way. Obi-Wan never had a family. Qui-Gon became the center of his world. You can't expect that to just disappear.

"But he still loves you. He is a wonderful man, and I'm sure his heart has enough room."

Anakin put his arm around her. "Thank you, Padme. You're just…perfect." His eyes bore into hers, intense and lusty. "I love you."

Padme slipped out of his touch. "We should go now. It's getting late."

He straightened, hoping the heat he felt in his face wasn't a blush. 

They paid the check, and began to walk, slowly, to the door.

Anakin made it one step outside before Padme's smooth arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips, ripe and luscious, pressed against his.

He brought his arms around her waist, and knew at once that this was the center of _his _world.

They stood on the sidewalk, intertwined, the night's wind rustling through their hair, and drawing them closer.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan was stretched out on his sleepcouch, cold hands laying limply folded on his stomach.

The exhaustion swarmed around him, but he remained awake, his mind taking charge of his overworked, helplessly weary body.

And that was the reason he felt tears cooling on his lashes.

The only reason.

He had said what needed to be said, received answers to satisfy what was simply curiosity. 

Only curiosity.

His question, that burning question, had been extinguished. He should feel relieved.

Obi-Wan wiped listlessly at his eyes. His chest should not ache this deeply, down to his core. To his heart.

There was a knock on his door. Not timid, exactly, but a small sound, barely obtrusive. Obi-Wan's skin raised as gooseflesh, and his tiny gasp seemed to echo in his ears.

In a half-trance, he walked toward the sound, unaware of the feverish beat beneath his bare chest. He raised a faintly shaky hand, and the door slid open.

Qui-Gon looked at him, a golden figure amid the room's darkness. But there were things drained from Obi-Wan, things taken that left him ragged. A strand of ginger dangled slightly over moist, incredibly beautiful, crystal eyes. His mouth, always pursed determinedly in Qui-Gon's memories, quivered. 

"I brought you some tea."

Obi-Wan had already inhaled the herbal scent of triali leaf. He didn't move. "Thank you." He said in a slight tone.

The quiet, still moment seemed to extend into hours. It was maybe the longest of Qui-Gon's life.

Then, Obi-Wan stepped forward, until he was scarcely an inch from the towering man.

And he dropped his head to his one-time Master's chest, sealing his eyes, copious tears streaming to caress his face.

The porcelain cup was dropped. Rich brown liquid splashed in the air, before splattering onto the carpet.

Qui-Gon brought his arms around Obi-Wan, gathering the frail frame into an embrace. He buried his face in the thick, silken hair. His hold was tight, as if this were some passing dream that could be stolen from him. 

Obi-Wan felt the strength, the security, the warmth of the man he had worshipped for the majority of his life, and grasped onto him, breathless.

"_Master._"

His cheek was pressed to the curve of Qui-Gon's neck, and his tears dripped onto that worn, familiar skin. 

The Force consumed them both at that moment, as the reunion of a dying friendship made it sing with glory.

Obi-Wan began to calm, enough to speak. "I would have done it." He whispered.

Qui-Gon pulled him a fraction back, framing the resplendent face with large, capable hands. "Done what?" He murmured, in the quiet volume reserved for this night.

"I…would have died for you."

In Qui-Gon's eyes beat the relief and rapture, in his tears streamed the dying pain. "But you are too precious. Too needed."

Obi-Wan smiled, nearly disbelieving that the bitterness was not rising in him at all. And the next second, his knees were giving way, and he was dropping to the floor.

Qui-Gon caught him easily, lifting the weakened Knight into his arms. He carried him into the shadow-laden bedroom. The Master sat on the sleepcouch edge, but instead of resting Obi-Wan on the mattress, continued to hold him, rocking very mildly.

As Obi-Wan drifted, Qui-Gon realized that he, too, was needed. That when he fled that battle, he abandoned someone who was still, in his vulnerable soul, a child.

And the last of the guilt was purged of him, as he sat, sobbing silently, hugging Obi-Wan to him, as the younger man's forgiveness finally seeped into their weary spirits.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Deep creases formed in a gray, spotted forehead. He swirled his blood red wine, darkened by the gloomy goblet, stained black, then dipped his head back, allowing the contents to slide past his lips.

Sidious sat the empty glass aside. His eyes, nestled in flaccid, drooping sockets, were as sharp and malevolent as they had been in his younger years. 

Eyes that, he liked to believe, were similar to another pair, that shifted between emerald and cerulean, that were illuminated even in a thick pall. 

Eyes that were closed now, the Sith knew.

His strength in the Force was beyond what any of the fools in that Temple would dream of possessing. He could sense Kenobi, across the lightyears.

The Darkness clung to Sidious, and laced his mind with tendrils of venomous foresight.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was happy.

Luckily, that would not stand.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme's fingers raked lightly along the length of Anakin's neck, her smile steadfast even as she kissed him. 

Anakin tangled his hands in her spirally, chestnut mane. "I love you…so much." He said in a gush of breath.

Again, Padme did not reply to the confession.

And, while they clutched to a passion as fiery as the stars scattered across the night sky, neither knew if she could, truthfully, return his feelings.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon was staring down at Obi-Wan's relaxed face, at the wilt of copper brushing against the cool forehead, the dampness of his skin gleaming in the wash of yellow illumination. 

When a set of eyes slowly opened, he found he still waited to see that stunning aquamarine focused on him. But the pupils were lax, defunct among the brilliant color, below the thin sheen of moisture.

The pang went to his heart, as he knew it always would, despite any repentance accepted by that generous spirit. "Awake so early? Not really your style, is it?" He teased very softly.

Confusion hazed the sleepy Knight; his brow creased and his hand went to Qui-Gon's face instinctively.

Qui-Gon placed the probing fingers against his lips. "It's alright. It's me."

There was a broken inhale as Obi-Wan stretched, his memory returning at the laggard speed grogginess causes, and he laid against Qui-Gon's chest, exhausted from the meager effort. "Master…"

He was on the brink of adding 'Jinn' to the title, but found he liked the sound of the shortened version far better.

"I---fell asleep."

Embarrassment tinged his hoarse voice. 

Qui-Gon smiled. "You were tired."

"But…we had things that needed to be said…" He shook his head. "And I just…"

A coarse, but comforting, hand touched his cheek, where stubble was beginning to spread. "The things that needed to be said---can still be said, Obi-Wan."

The young man paused, only the small click of a swallow permeating the silence, as he thought. His accent was both thick and dulcet, simply lovely, even when threatened by darker undertones. "What--What do you want to say?"

Now Qui-Gon hesitated. His gaze traveled to the window while he considered all that welled in him. Many years had gone wordless between them, and this bridge, built so suddenly, connecting those painful gaps, could break with one wrong step. 

They would both fall.

Again.

If---Qui-Gon let it happen.

With utter caution, he spoke. "I want to tell you how much I've missed you, Obi-Wan. I've bore the whole in my soul too long. I need you to restore me."

Obi-Wan hugged Qui-Gon then, burying his face in warm tunic. The hand, forever searching in place of barren sight, roamed the leonine features before settling in the soft beard.

The Master had voiced the Knight's feelings, and Obi-Wan silently rejoiced, his eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding free. He, too, wanted to be whole again. Qui-Gon could fill that aching void inside. "I need you." He rasped, and oh, how wonderful it was to hear it aloud. It rained down on him, soothing him, saving him. "I need you."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"I want you." Anakin whispered between kisses.

Padme closed her eyes, as his lips traveled her jaw line, her hands on his waist. "No." She gasped, breaking free of him, stepping back. She clutched her head and began to pace a small diameter.

Anakin was panting, aware now that they were never alone here. People walked between them, and it was like an eclipse. He would see her beautiful light, only to have it hidden by a man's broad shoulder, or the tip of a woman's kerchief. 

When the flow of pedestrians ebbed, and Padme's face was in clear view again, it was streaked with tears. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her back hunched. 

Anakin reached out to her, but she shook her head, strands of curl falling in her eyes. 

"We can't do…_that._" 

Bewilderment mingled with yearning in his gaze. "Why not?

She snapped her head up, eyes wide and threaded with red. "_Because_ Ani! It's wrong!"

He caught her slim wrist, and refused to relinquish the hold, forcing her to remain close. "Why, Padme? Why is it wrong? I LOVE you." He whispered ardently. "I've never done…" The apprentice stumbled over the coming words, and shook his head, deciding to phrase it more appealingly. "I've been waiting for you."

Padme wiped the mascara-clouded drip from her eyes. "It doesn't matter, Ani. It---doesn't matter."

"Why?"

She exhaled shakily, regarding him with a pained, miserable expression. "Because it doesn't! Because I'm one thing and you're another. What use would it be? I'll stay---and you'll…" Her voice cracked. "Leave. So why would I sacrifice something so precious?"

His determination never wavered, he never let the raw longing be exposed. "Why does it have to be a sacrifice? Don't you _want_ this?"

She just looked at him, chest heaving, while she tore through her mind, fervently explored her heart, to find the honest answer. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

A quiet had settled into the room. Not stifling or uncomfortable. Just a pleasant silence, relieving after the exhausting spill of words and emotion. 

Obi-Wan's cheek was cushioned by a pillow, one arm spread out, while the other clung to Qui-Gon's sleeve with all but slack fingers. 

When the Master spoke, it was done so reluctantly, for the hush had been, in a way, quite soothing. "I missed you more with each passing day. I would wonder what you were doing; wonder if you were happy."

Obi-Wan smiled, and it was a weary, blissful look that transformed his face, a face softened by the muted glow bleeding through the drapes, a glow that trickled down his smooth, bare back. "I wasn't."

Qui-Gon sighed. "I had hoped you would discover peace."

"I have."

"Have you? There are---other things, things I can't ignore, that I've pledged to, Obi-Wan."

And Obi-Wan knew, as he had always known. Qui-Gon was referring to that final betrayal before their dissolution. He knew, because the pain jabbed him. It was a sharp, distinct hurt. Nothing else could cause it. _Anakin._ "I don't need your whole life to be centered around me, Master." He murmured.

Qui-Gon's eyes were reflective, as they journeyed the blackened room. His life _was_ full, teeming with responsibility and obligation, sparring and teaching… _Then why does it…sometimes feel so…empty?_

"And what have you centered your life upon, while we have been…apart?" The graying Jedi asked.

Dread surged in Obi-Wan, as he remembered endless, lonely nights, adrift from his friends, suffering the tears. Wanting to hate Qui-Gon for what happened, but never achieving the harsh, resent-driven goal. "I think my life just---just stopped. The moment, in t-the healer's ward." He had striven to be serene, and was instantly betrayed by the wobble of his voice. "I was in the dark."

Qui-Gon swallowed, with incredible difficulty. "Was it very hard for you, Obi-Wan?" 

The underlying guilt, tenuous in its grip on the Master, scraped against Obi-Wan's ears. He didn't want to hear anymore, didn't want to know how much agony had been experienced in that grievous decade. "Yes." He whispered. _Better not to lie. _"Very."

Qui-Gon began to massage the muscles of his back. While the gentle ministrations eased his strain, Obi-Wan thought of being enclosed in Mejant's arms, reduced to a weeping mess, after a particularly trying session with the main healer. "I was afraid. All the time, afraid. That I would never learn to function again. That the entire Universe was closed off to me.

"That I would forget places…_faces._" He released a shuddering breath, pausing to savor the loosened tension. 

He must have been lost in the daze, because Qui-Gon gave him a tiny, barely perceptible shake. 

There was concern written in every facet of his Force presence. Obi-Wan spared a moment to smile to himself. "I would lay in bed, running through faces. And, gradually, they started to blur a bit. A smudge, then a smear. I can hardly recall---

"Except, I know Mejant's nose is round, and so small that I still can't resist kissing it."

Qui-Gon chuckled soundlessly. 

"And yours has a little…um…"

The Master feigned an indignant huff. "Go ahead, you can say it."

A good-natured blush, laced with undeniable charm, colored Obi-Wan's cheeks. "Dent. On the bridge."

"It gives me character." Qui-Gon rubbed the base of his neck. "Why do you remember noses so well?"

There was a half-attempt to shrug. "Their shapes are obvious, usually. And the color isn't important, like with eyes."

He was somber, a hand curling against his chest. "Colors are the worst."

There seemed to be no response to that. Qui-Gon went on offering solace in his healing touch, and in his undivided attention.

"When I was finally 'adjusted', the Council would give me these _terrible_ missions that better suited a courier. I would shake a hand, deliver a document, maybe attend a stuffy dinner, then come back. After awhile, I wondered why."

Qui-Gon tilted his head. "Why what?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "Why I came back."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme twined her fingers together, and stared up at Anakin, eyelids lowered. "You make me feel…"

The words fell away, and Anakin stepped forward, bracing her arms. "I _love you_ Padme. You make me feel wonderful, powerful…"

"Stop." She urged between grit teeth. "I can't…There's too much in the way…and we're so different…"

Anakin moved his hands to her cheeks. "But we're not. Inside, we both feel it, Padme. Pulsing in us. You feel it. I know you do."

And Padme found she could not deny the intensity that coursed through her when they touched, the rush of kissing him. "But is that love, Anakin? Or just plain human attraction?"

He grinned. "I like to think it's a little of both."

She sighed at the fiery hope in his eyes. "One should outweigh the other, Anakin. Love is why we live, lust is why we hurt." The Senator squeezed his fingers. "I don't want to be hurt."

At once, he was tender, stroking her palms as he reassured her. "You won't be. Come on, Padme, you know deep down this is right."

"How do you know it's right?"

"Because, I sense it in the Force." He smiled. "It's destiny."

And then, in a strange unison, they just began walking, away from the Theed Plaza, toward what the Jedi apprentice believed was inevitable.

Toward what could, actually, be their fate.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"They were only trying to protect you." Qui-Gon said, in a voice that was as near to meek as he could ever muster. 

Obi-Wan snorted softly. "Yeah. A trained Jedi Knight, living among the elite, but totally useless to his Order. Confined by my oath…"

"Confined?"

A single tear glistened on the rim of his eye. "Yes."

And Qui-Gon turned from him, head sinking into his hands. For some reason, Tahl's face, her delicate, beautiful face, warm with flecks of honey, flashed into his mind's periphery. Her ruby lips contorting to a frown, as she tackled the added obstacles her disability created, all the while refusing aid.

The melancholy glimmer in her sightless, green and gold striped gaze when she would feel the sting of pity…of being less important…less needed.

She had to know she was wanted.

Now, Obi-Wan's handsome, achingly innocent visage was dimming from that same cruel emotion. For one so undeniably of the light, it was heartbreaking to see the dark encroach him. "You're an asset to the Jedi, Obi-Wan."

A humorless chuckle. "How's that?"

Qui-Gon stroked his shoulders. "With everything you do. You are loved by the Force, Obi-Wan. Not just touched. LOVED. Because you are full of compassion, because you can't tolerate injustice. It loves you, Obi-Wan." He gently pulled him onto his back, so he could brush his fingers across the young man's cheeks, striped with tears. "Without you, the Jedi would have to survive a _devastating _loss.

"And I probably wouldn't survive at all."

Obi-Wan sat up, in a slick movement that told of his natural grace, and embraced his former Master. His breaths were quick and shallow, working to choke anymore sobs before they could escape. "I love you." He gasped.

"I've always loved you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon smiled, ignoring the rivers chasing down his own cheeks. "And it's my fault that you didn't always know."

Obi-Wan wanted to console him, say that he _had_ always known.

But it would be a false confession. In the years of his apprenticeship, there were moments of sharp, piercing doubt, moments he thought he would be impaled by it. And after Naboo---he was positive their relationship was cold, with one-sided affection, and secret hatred.

__

But he could never have hated me…

There it was again. The shadow of uncertainty. The fog that thickened in their bond after Melida/Dann…Tahl. "Did you ever blame me, Master?"

Qui-Gon looked down at him. "For what?"

"For…For the things before Naboo…that kept us apart?"

A beat passed before the Master comprehended. "You were a child, Obi-Wan. A child with the same characteristics of any child. You may have made hasty decisions, but they were all rooted in purity. I wouldn't be much of a Jedi-or a man-if I ever blamed you."

Obi-Wan sniffed, his voice weak and unsteady. "You are the best man I have ever known. You…are what I want to be."

Qui-Gon ran a strand of ginger, the tip red as flame, through his fingers. "Why would you want to take steps backward?"

And, after a few minutes, his tunic was damp with tears, even when the Knight cradled in his arms fell into a deep, content sleep.

Outside, the sun was waking, the first golden rays giving birth to a fresh day.

A day that would leave so many in tears.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~


	7. The Core of Being

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Seven: The Core of Being

The glare of full morning flashed in Anakin's eyes, and he groggily ran his hand over them, turning onto his side with a muffled groan.

The forenoon ruled Naboo with a fluid, glowing grace, a still tranquility that carried over into the room…but was broken by the quietest of sobs.

Padme was wrapped tight in her robe. Her trembling hands gripped the neckline, and her hair fell in ratted tendrils down to her back. 

She clenched her eyes shut, but the tears couldn't be stopped, and the warm streams of moisture pooled on her paled face. 

And, no matter how hard she tried to push the images from her mind, they stayed, reminding her of the moment when her greatest pride, her deepest treasure…

Was destroyed.

__

No. She shivered, bringing her arms tauter, curling her ice-cold toes. 

No, that wasn't the right way to describe it. At the time, it hadn't felt like that. 

__

I love Anakin. I love him. That's why we---we--- Padme dropped her forehead to her fist, great pain wracking her chest as she cried, as she attempted to be quiet…so she wouldn't disturb Anakin.

Anakin, who slept on, with a faint smile on his lips, unaware (uncaring?) that the life she built, the morals she relied on…had been utterly torn apart.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stirred, arms stretching, sightless eyes opened to bleary slits. The pillow beneath his head was firm, the sheets over his body light, draping in such a way that the outline of his form was softly displayed. 

And a _very_ pleasant aroma was wafting into the room. Warm and mouth-watering.

"Ready for breakfast?" A deep voice asked.

He smiled. "You cooked?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "With one of the finest room services at my fingertips?" He sat the platter on the bed, and began setting slices of fruit and spiced sausage on two small, cream-colored plates.

Obi-Wan pulled himself to an upright position. "This is all really unnecessary, you know."

Qui-Gon placed the knife calmly onto a dish, and pulled the blankets from around Obi-Wan's waist, fingering bones that looked as though they were on the brink of protruding from that flawless skin. "When your ribcage doesn't poke out like that, then you can tell me it's unnecessary."

The Knight flushed.

"For now," Jinn continued, in a tone that one could describe as gruff, wise, or, even, _comforting_, "You'll eat like you used to."

An amused, curious half-giggle. "Really? How did I eat?"

The Master resumed cutting the juicy selections of muja and bangi, grinning widely. "Oh, like a starved Bantha at a buffet."

Obi-Wan laughed so hard he fell against an adjacent pillow, his shoulders shaking. 

Qui-Gon remained silent, while the chortles building in his throat threatened to choke him.

The young man wiped a tear from his eye. "I think you were exaggerating. I remember quite a few banquets where I barely touched my food…and you were hurrying for seconds."

This time, Qui-Gon couldn't hold back the laughter. "What a selective memory you have, Obi-Wan. It's so strange that you seem to have forgotten Remiss 7…" His eyebrow cocked. "And the dessert tray."

Two splotches of pink, pale and perfectly charming, lined his cheeks. Again. "That's not fair. I was only seventeen."

"With the appetite of a full-grown Hutt." He handed him a glass of sweet Parallian pear juice.

Obi-Wan took a grateful drink that doused the itch in his throat, smiling around the rim. 

Qui-Gon's eyes grew rueful and content. He reached out and brushed his fingers across a gleaming temple before finishing preparations of their meal, the knowledge that the small meeting between his apprentice and Senator Amidala at the café had apparently stretched into the morning hours weighing down on his airy, early day thoughts.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The nurse walked down the sleek, white hallway, her polished shoes clacking in familiar rhythm against the polished floor. The morning light was smothered by the overpowering artificial strips mounted to the ceiling.

The electric illumination wasn't clean, wasn't sterile.

Sometimes, she thought, it felt downright sickly, spilling like hot saffron onto sweaty patients.

She sighed, coming to her first stop in a long, tiring route. Forcing a smile, the small woman walked through the door…

And barely had time to gasp before she smacked onto that pristine, slick floor, unconscious.

Rhell Vininon, or at least the earthly form that had encased his disturbed spirit, was sprawled on the narrow hospital cot. A single blackened hole was singed into his forehead, with deep fringes of red streaking from the charred center. 

His eyes, always hollow and glassy after his short imprisonment, were closed, as was his mouth.

Perhaps he was at peace now. The harsh malady that twisted his mind couldn't harm him anymore.

But the sour light radiated on his cooling face.

Yes, she had been right. 

At the moment, it looked very sickly.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin propped his head on his hand, arm cushioned by the pillows, a blanket covering his lower body. He watched Padme walk past him, and warmth stirred inside him.

"Where're you goin'?" 

She flashed a tiny, insincere smile. "I'm, uh, just going to get a shower."

He sat up. "I could go with you."

Her eyes were wide, stinging from unshed tears, her fingers twined around the robe's tie. "No. No. We…We have to get going."

His disappointment was palpable, but he grinned. "Last night--."

Padme stopped dead, her gaze going still, glazed in a shaft of shadow. More images-the caress of bare skin, a lusting smile-assaulted her. And it was more a battle to stay on her feet now, than a battle to reach the bathroom.

"Was wonderful." Anakin finally finished. He swept the linens aside, and strolled over to her, a palm flattening to her back. "I thought I had known happiness…until then." He whispered, so close to her ear that his breath rustled her hair. 

Padme fastened her eyes shut. _We love each other._

"I'd never done that before…because there's no one else---"

She turned around suddenly, the lifeless strands of auburn twirling with the movement. The Senator put her hand, her steady, cold hand, over his mouth.

And he kissed it.

Padme fluttered her lashes, looking away a fraction of a second…into the near past….when things had been sane. When she locked eyes with him once more, the sadness was erased, and an intimacy was throbbing there. "I---"

She longed to blurt the truth. It had been too soon. She regretted every moment, to the bottom of her wounded heart. 

But it was her choice. 

Responsibility was another ethic she held high. She didn't want to lose another shred of that character. Her virtue was gone…

She was still Padme Amidala.

Her chin tilted up a little, and her smile was dazzling, though her eyes carried a distant, but present, gloom. "We have bonded, Ani. Our connection--it goes further than anything we have ever experienced."

He nodded. "I know." 

"And, we can never forget what happened last night."

"I wouldn't want to."

She touched his cheek. "It was my intention, from the time of my childhood, to marry the man I would want to form this connection with. We won't have the chance to wed, Ani…

"But I'm yours. And you're mine."

He stroked the hair framing her face. "Forever."

She released a heavy sigh. "Forever."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

It was seven years, two months, and six days since the deadly battles that gave Naboo back its precious freedom.

In some ways, the Room of a Thousand Fountains was similar to that heavenly planet. The natural, cleansed scents and soothing sounds.

Qui-Gon came here quite often. To reflect on missions, to balm a headache…or just to bask in the atmosphere.

Today, however, it seemed he was drawn to this sanctuary for another reason entirely.

The morose willow leaves hung limply over the fountain, shading the slumped figure. The Master's breath caught in his throat. Thus far, the silent Knight didn't sense him. He sat on the fountain's makeshift bench, letting the cool mist spray onto his neck.

Qui-Gon approached slowly, cautiously.

And spared a moment to lament. This was Obi-Wan, for Force's sake. Not a snarling Zerka tiger. 

As he came nearer, he saw there were contusions that spread from his left cheek to his eyelid. Dark purples and blues. Fresh.

The soft cap of ginger was largely unchanged. The pair of sky-dappled eyes, though, were hard.

It hurt Qui-Gon to witness the shift between gentle beauty and brittleness. 

"You're injured." He said quietly. 

Obi-Wan inhaled smoothly. "It's just a bruise, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Severe bruises, Obi-Wan."

The man stiffened. "I would prefer Knight Kenobi." He informed the man, his accent frigid. He stood.

And Qui-Gon took him by the arms. "What happened?"

Obi-Wan didn't squirm. "I don't have to answer to YOU."

Acid dripped from the final word. Qui-Gon actually flinched. "No, but I worry. I would like to know."

Obi-Wan's eyes were unfocused, they appeared to be trained on two different objects that would leave anyone else's vision crossed. But the darkness was all he saw, the cold was all he felt. Even the warm hands that loosely held him couldn't thaw that. "I--fell down some stone stairs. It's nothing." 

"I used to know every injury, every sickness you had."

Obi-Wan abruptly broke free. "I hurt more than you knew." He began to stalk away.

"Maybe." The Master admitted. "But you were never alone."

Obi-Wan kept walking.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan was slipping on his boot when he felt it.

It was incredibly powerful, surging through him. The same uneasiness rose that he carried throughout the last Naboo mission. At first it was intense and distracting. Slowly, it lowered to a sort of tingle in his mind. Less consuming, but still persistent.

A warning from the Force.

Obi-Wan frowned, chewing his bottom lip absently as he thought. Qui-Gon's impassioned words last night echoed in his head. It was true that Obi-Wan was touched by the Force, especially the facets of that supreme entity that dealt in foresight.

He heard it murmur in his ear before peril erupted.

The Knight sighed wearily and stood.

__

One thing's for sure---it never alerts me to pleasant occurrences.

He heard Qui-Gon enter, and smoothed the worry from his face. "Breakfast was excellent, Master. I've not had a meal so satisfying…" He grinned. "In a long while."

Fingers ruffled his clean, damp hair. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Obi-Wan."

There was another silent moment, where they seemed to soak up this new happiness between them, and savor the blithe emotion. 

Then Qui-Gon had to clear his throat. "I spoke with Anakin. We're meeting them downstairs in twenty minutes, then you and he will investigate possible exits of the underground base."

This time, Obi-Wan had to conceal his distaste. "Do you think the Senator is in much danger?"

Qui-Gon stroked his beard contemplatively. "It's alarming that I haven't sensed an attack yet. The farther we get in the case, the more information gathered. I'd think they'd want to, um, be 'rid of her' as soon as possible."

Obi-Wan nodded. "But Berrel is probably meticulous when it comes to protecting his profits. He'll need everything to go just as he plans, or he could easily be caught."

The Master smiled at him, pride shining in midnight blue eyes. "Exactly." He said softly, approvingly. 

A tiny smile tugged at the Knight's lips in turn. 

Qui-Gon stepped closer. "How are you feeling?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Fine. I am a little sick though---" A sly smirk stretched onto his face. "Of your hovering."

The two man broke into laughter, and the last stubborn walls erected between them seemed to crumble.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin stood there, not sure whether he should move forward and embrace her…or run into the next room to wait it out.

Padme was stone beside the communicator, her hand against the machine, though the caller had long since hung up. Tears quivered in her chestnut eyes. "I can't believe…" 

The apprentice took a hesitant step. "Padme, it's alright. He was…"

Her head lifted slowly. "He was what?" The lyrical voice sounded heavy and flat.

Anakin gave the smallest of shrugs. "He was sick, Padme. He was never going to recover. Maybe it's…better this way."

The anger radiated in her, her jaw tightened, but her body was motionless beneath the pale verdant dress. The Naboo Senator was paralyzed by her outrage. "How can you _say that_?" 

At once, his cheeks were burning. The look on her porcelain face…it beat with horrible surprise and sorrow…faint disgust. He never wanted to see it again.

Particularly when he was the cause of it. 

He rushed to her side, and encompassed her waist with lanky arms. "I was only trying to comfort you, Padme. I know he was a good man---"

She craned her elegant, long neck to gaze up at him-and silently despaired at the desperate hope in his dark eyes. "You don't know, Ani." Padme responded at last, shaking her head, moving from his hold, briskly wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

The woman stopped at the huge, arched window, her slender fingers parting the maroon velvet drapes. 

Anakin stared at her, and knew she wasn't watching the waking of Naboo's landscape. Her eyes were unseeing…blurred by her grief.

He wasn't going to pretend to understand. Rhell Vininon was crazy, at least during the time she knew him. And she didn't really _know_ him anyway.

But Padme allowed things to touch her to the heart…

It was another beautiful thing about her. 

At the same time, it was frustrating. Anakin didn't want to compete with her many, unnecessary, allegiances. They had made a pact last night…he didn't want to share.

He strode to the window, and placed his hands on the graceful slope of her shoulders. 

Strangely, she didn't look at him for many, many minutes.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel was positively beaming when Ileana sauntered into his office. He was sitting behind his mammoth desk, hands folded to his head, mouth stretched wide.

She cocked a finely plucked eyebrow. "That look can never mean anything good."

He laughed with more gusto than the tiny pun deserved. "Todays' gonna be damn profitable." Berrel motioned for her to come closer.

Hesitancy evident only in her heart, the woman complied, perching on the edge of the black chair, and resting arms around his neck. 

Berrel breathed in her scent, eyes closing. "Mmmm. Tell me baby….have I told you lately how intoxicatingly sexy you are?"

"Yes." She purred. "But I never mind hearing it again."

His chuckle was rich with desire. He pulled her down to him, and kissed her slowly.

Ileana tried to remember when his intimate touches didn't revolt her, when his love was her reason for existing…and she also tried _very_ hard not to lose her humble breakfast. 

Then he drew a fraction back, looking deep into her citrus eyes. "If I didn't have you Leana…" He shook his head. "None of this would be worth the trouble."

Her stomach lurched. She hadn't been expecting _that._ "Really?"

Berrel raked his fingers lightly along her cheek. "Of course. My life is…I'm nothing, if you aren't there. Everything I do.. All the credits I earn…" He drifted to trace her jaw line. "It's all for you.

"All I want is to make you happy."

She gave a tight smile. _Killing one of my dearest friends is not the way. _"Thank you." 

The burly man's eyes, that could be unyielding and wretched with evil, were soft and attentive. "I love you, Leana. And if this is how I can make you happy, I'll do it until the day I die."

Ileana had to wonder how long that would be.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

In the main lobby of Theed Plaza, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi sat on an ornate, undoubtedly expensive, bench, faces serene, eyes catching the gleam of overhead lights.

From the vantage of a passerby, they could be mistaken for a father and his son.

Qui-Gon shifted, regretting the disturbance he would cause to this perfect moment. But the need was rubbing his heart painfully raw. He had to know. "I don't think I've apologized properly."

Obi-Wan's head turned, though his eyes were still. "For what, Master?" He wondered softly.

The aging man smiled, another wave of sweet thankfulness drenching him. "You can't imagine how good if feels to hear that word again."

His one-time protégé grinned, a brilliance cascading down his face, stunning and pure. "It feels…indescribable just to say it again."

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I invaded your mind on the ship, Obi-Wan."

And the joy drained from Obi-Wan's expression, leaving a crease in his brow. He didn't reply for several seconds.

Dread was etched openly in the Master's countenance. His breath was tight in his chest.

"It's….alright…Master."

It sounded so stifled that Qui-Gon was moved to give the silky ginger locks a quick stroke. "Is it, Obi-Wan?"

The Knight was motionless.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I want you to tell me the truth. We can't start with another shadow between us. You shouldn't be compelled to hide from me."

Obi-Wan heaved out a breath, shaking his head. "I'm not hiding anything. It's alright. You've been in my mind plenty of times and-"

"I never glimpsed such dark thoughts in you before, Obi-Wan." He stared at the troubled man. "I want to know why you were thinking of those things. Of…that."

Obi-Wan didn't require a definition of 'that'. It was the phantom inside of him. A ghost that haunted him, filling him with intent too misted to be carried out, but present just the same. _He knows I wanted to kill myself._ "That's in the past. I don't want to---"

Qui-Gon took a trembling hand in his, entwining their fingers and pressing the warm tangle to his lips. "Force help me, it will stay in the past. You're not going _anywhere_, Obi-Wan. As long as I live, as long as I watch over you."

"It's in the past." Obi-Wan repeated unsteadily, battling the crash of hot tears in his eyes. "But I WILL tell you, one day. When I'm ready."

Qui-Gon smiled, returning his fingers to the thick spikes of hair, nearly overwhelmed by the affection he possessed for this child, this innocent sprite, masquerading as a man. "When you're ready. I'll be waiting."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The journey to the Plaza had been uncomfortable, the atmosphere pregnant with unspoken irritation. As Padme and Anakin passed through the grand gold doors, several pairs of eyes strayed to them.

Except, Anakin noticed, his Master's. They were adhered to Kenobi, though the Knight's lips were as inactive as the Senator's. 

It was so quiet. Anakin _hated _the quiet. 

And, as they came closer to the others, he felt rushed to end it. "I'll be thinking of you all day."

Padme looked at him. Her mouth quirked, in a slight expression that could pass for a smile. It was an empty effort, for she was consumed by her sorrow for Rhell, and the arrogance of Anakin's reaction to the man's death. It had more than a disappointment to discover his lack of compassion. It was another stinging blow to her heart. She glanced at Obi-Wan as they approached, drinking in his gentle demeanor.

She was forced to ponder why two men raised within the same walls, by the same man, could grow up to be so…different.

Qui-Gon stood and bowed. "Good morning, Milady. Anakin."

__

Padawan. Skywalker wanted to correct. "Good morning, Master." 

The elder Jedi's eyes twinkled with early day, the weary dimness that always smothered their full beauty seemingly vanished. "We must begin the work immediately. Time grows short."

Padme's forehead crinkled. "You don't know, do you?"

Obi-Wan came to rise beside Qui-Gon, and the Master crossed his arms. "Know what?"

The woman swallowed, smoothing her dress to disguise the perspiration cold on her palms. "Rhell Vininon was found this morning." Her eyes fluttered shut a moment, and when they drifted to Qui-Gon again, they were huge, dark with sadness. "Someone…someone shot him in the night. He's dead."

Her voice wobbled, and Anakin touched her elbow, visibly worried.

She shot him a brisk glance. Anakin liked to think it was grateful.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Then we probably have even less time than Master…Qui-Gon believed."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. Anakin, you and Obi-Wan need to head to the locations indicated in the reports. Search the Force for any abnormalities you may sense. Darkness. Lingering pain."

The apprentice was sullen, and drearily dutiful. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon refused to see the faint visibility of a pout on the youth's face, and turned away. "Contact me when you have finished. The Senator and I will continue to discuss infiltration plans."

"Yes, Master. " Came the dulled answer.

Qui-Gon pressed his hand to Obi-Wan's shoulder before joining Padme.

Anakin watched her depart, and it was like the only candle in a pall, cruelly snuffed out.

Obi-Wan rubbed his finger to his temple. _A headache is all I need._

They were dressed in street clothes, Obi-Wan wearing tan trousers and a deep blue, loose fitting, long-sleeved top. Anakin was clad in black leggings, with an equally dark, tighter shirt.

The Padawan despised blending into the crowd, being lost among the average, not being able to stand higher than the rest.

Obi-Wan missed the worn familiarity of his tunics, but understood the necessity of low-key attire. He couldn't very well sneak about the suspected drop-offs in Jedi uniform, a lightsaber hanging from his belt in clear view. "Let's get started." He said, in a voice that didn't quite conceal his underlying dread.

Anakin glared at him while they walked. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

The fork clacked dully against the plate as Anakin speared another ripe slice of muja and popped the succulent morsel into his mouth. It was his absolute favorite; plump and sweet. 

But the flavor was lost to him tonight. He glanced up at his Master, chewing with lackluster.

Qui-Gon was staring at the dish of fruit and meat, the silver utensil clutched absently in his hand. The apartment lights were dim. 

Anakin thought that maybe it was to hide the red threads staining the whites of his Master's eyes. 

This sometimes happened. Mostly, Qui-Gon was a wonderful teacher, vibrant and wise, affectionate and attentive. Unless the red invaded his eyes. Then he was like a pale shadow to his young apprentice. 

Anakin swallowed, running his tongue along his lips to catch the dribble of juice. 

Qui-Gon must have caught him, for the dismal man actually chuckled, shaking his head.

Anakin smiled meekly, afraid if he were to grin, it would cause his Master to retreat into the silence again. 

"I guess it would be pointless to tell you to use your napkin."

The child giggled. "The juice is the best part."

"I'll just see about that." Qui-Gon countered enthusiastically, narrowing his gaze, and taking a huge bite of the brilliant yellow muja. While his jaw worked, Anakin watched with barely contained glee.

The Master gulped it down with a loud, wet click.

Anakin looked at him expectantly.

Giant shoulders shrugged. "I don't see what you're so excited about." A small stream of liquid snaked from his mouth, and he wiped it away with much chagrin.

Anakin was in hysterics, napkin twisted between his fingers as he laughed.

"Besides, it's awfully messy, Padawan."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

Anakin's small mouth stretched into a yawn. He pulled off the rubber goggles and rubbed his eyes. He offered the fixed droid a pleased grin before trotting into the darkened hallway.

On Tatooine, the last moments before bed were special. Perhaps the best of the entire day.

His mother would chase him to his room and he would burrow under the covers, only to throw them back so she could tuck them in snugly around his chin. 

Her face, roughed by harsh climate and harsher labor, would be liquid smooth in the gentle light. Her lips were touched by a soft smile. Her voice was soothing. Her voice was home. 

And it was always the final thing he heard while he drifted to sleep.

It couldn't chase the nightmares away. Nothing could accomplish that, really. But it was a refuge for him. As much as he feared the hell of sleep, he loved saying goodnight.

Somehow, Qui-Gon had known the importance of that ritual. Not a day passed when it was sacrificed.

Anakin padded to his Master's doorway, a greeting word rising in his throat.

He stopped when the quiet, muffled noise reached his ears. The boy pressed against the wall, exceptional skills trained on listening.

It was sobbing. Weak, utterly tortured sobs. Coming from his Master.

Anakin's eyes went wide, and he played with his bottom lip nervously, nearly hopping in his anxiousness. The youth breathed in, finding his center, then blanketing a thin layer between he and his Master. Undetectable, but useful.

He stepped inside. Anakin was relieved to see the massive back turned from him. Scattered on the floor were the contents of that dreaded box. Kenobi's old tunic, the worn holo album.

Tears trembled on his lashes, and he batted them furiously. Anakin stormed to the corridor. He was so overcome with his anger that he fell to his knees, hands fisted. 

With the sound of his Master's sorrowful cries raining down on him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Padme asked, studying the distinct, handsome face, realizing that it was, on some level, a timeless visage of nobility. This was roughly what she pictured in her mind as a child, fantasizing about faraway systems and the brave, courageous, almost mythical creatures known as Jedi. 

Qui-Gon met her eyes. "Anakin and Obi-Wan haven't had much of a shared past. They were in the same Temple, but lightyears apart. Their personalities…clash, I think. It will be a vital lesson for them both."

"The assignment?"

He nodded. "That, and they'll have to survive--each other."

Padme smiled at him, but the words stirred worry inside her. She knew she loved them both. Differently, but deeply. 

Just as Qui-Gon did.

__

If only Ani could understand that.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The trek to the first marked location was long and grievous. Obi-Wan was occupied by his own thoughts, and by making sure his steps were on course. It would be a disaster if he tripped or fell.

Not because of the embarrassment. But because it would fuel the fire he was certain had ignited long ago in Anakin Skywalker. Crackling flames that burned as hatred for the predecessor of his position

Obi-Wan honestly didn't mind that he was despised by the boy. He had encountered countless foes over his years. Fiends who sought to separate his head from his shoulders. Antagonists with far worse than even that in mind. 

This was just another Jedi. The reputed Chosen One, maybe, but in the end, just another member of his Order.

He could glower and pout and loathe all he wanted. Ultimately, he was only hurting himself and his relationship with his Master.

__

Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan's step faltered minutely. His chest began to ache.

__

What would Qui-Gon think if Anakin did something hasty, like lash out at me? He'd think he had failed. Again.

It was his Master's way, to accept all the blame when it belonged to another. To absorb every last scintilla of the pain. 

The cursed name whispered in his thoughts, and Obi-Wan quelled a cold shudder. _Xanatos._

No. That will never happen. Anakin may be conceited and jealous, but he could never possess that pure darkness.

Obi-Wan tightened his shields, then berated himself for being paranoid.

__

He's only an apprentice. 

"Anakin."

The reply was loud and sharp. "What?"

The Knight sighed inwardly. "It's obvious that we aren't the best of friends--"

An acrid snort.

"Nevertheless, we have been placed in this situation, and must carry out the duty to the best of our abilities. We can't do that if we're bickering or---"

"I know how to be professional." Anakin kicked at a rock, sending it skittering down the path. "I'm not stupid."

Obi-Wan managed the smallest of smiles. "I know that. But you must promise to be civil and---"

"Why were you at Padme's the other night?"

The older man was taken aback. His brow furrowed. "What? What does that have to do---"

Anakin grabbed him by the shoulders and whipped him around. "Everything." He ground out in a rasp. "It has everything to do with this. I can't be civil, as you say, if I find out that you've been messing around with her."

Obi-Wan wanted very much to shove the violent brat, but instead maintained his tranquil expression, lines of his body betraying the irritation he felt. "You will remove your hands from me now, _apprentice,_ and perhaps I will overlook the blatant disrespect to my person. Or, you could carry out what I'm sure you've dreamt of from the moment we were in the Council chamber, and answer to your Master afterwards." Despite their unfocused glaze, his cerulean eyes were cool. "Of course, in the case of the latter, I will be forced to defend myself."

For a moment, the second choice was a tantalizing one for Anakin, His fingers dug into Obi-Wan's skin and longed to draw blood. But the intensity of his emotion was beginning to overwhelm him. Heat was boiling beneath his not-so-calm surface and a dizziness was dawning in his head. Slowly, very reluctantly, he released the Knight.

And Obi-Wan caught him by the collar in a flash, pushing him hard against a nearby wall. Their faces were uncomfortably close…exactly as the ginger-capped man intended. "And, just so you know, Senator Amidala and I were merely discussing my last visit to Naboo. I suggest you learn to trust, young Padawan, before this suspicion destroys you."

Then he let go, smoothly resuming his gait. 

Anakin rubbed his neck, face bright, simmering red. 

"Do we have an understanding?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes." Skywalker watched him walk on, aware that his greatest enemy of all was beside him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Lorb stopped dead in his tracks, squinting his eyes.

Two fellas looked to have been on the brink of a scrape, and he was always ready for a good fight.

One was tall and lanky, with a head of dark, sandy hair. The other was smaller, but something about him struck Lorb as…powerful. His face was round, with a cleft to his chin…

Lorb gasped. "Hell!" He wiped the smear of liquor from his lips and followed the pair.

This was his biggest deal yet with Berrel. Maybe if he made the delivery a little early, there'd be a sweetener for him.

His mouth twisted into a greedy, thoroughly disgusting grin.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Well, how are we supposed to figure it out?" Anakin stood in the designated area, hands on his hips, eyes stormy and dark.

Obi-Wan was a meter away. His hair rippled in the slight wind. "Center your mind. If this is indeed a positive location, you'll sense it."

The space was deserted, the ground covered in a thin, dusty layer of dirt. It was nestled deep in an old business complex closed for renovations that would probably turn into a complete, costly makeover. Nothing had begun yet, and so their steps were loud in the hollowness.

"I don't see any catches or seams."

Obi-Wan traced his eyebrow thoughtfully. "It almost feels…"

"Muffled." Anakin finished.

"Yes." He sank to the floor and crossed his legs, laying his hands on his knees. "I'll have to concentrate more sharply on it."

__

Aren't you perfect. "Alright."

Anakin waited for the Knight's eyes to slip closed, and his breathing to slow to the measured rhythm of meditation. Then he dug his hands into his pockets, smiling, moving forward to the next point on the list.

__

He can find his own way there, if he's such a great Jedi. I don't need him to help me with anything anyway. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Lorb watched the apprentice's slick and conniving departure. His fingers drummed on the hilt of his weapon.

His life had never been as easy as some, but there were moments when everything just fell perfectly into place.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"..and Ileana could distract Berrel in some way. Invite him to dinner, maybe." 

Padme's head rested on the heel of her hand. Her gaze was vacant, or so distant that it left a teary film over the chestnut irises.

Qui-Gon stopped talking, watching the young woman intently, noticing at once the pain swirling beneath her indifferent surface. "Milady?"

She snapped to attention, eyes flashing to him, a lovely blush highlighting her cheekbones. "Oh." She put a hand to her heart. "I'm so sorry. I've been a bit…preoccupied." Padme cleared her throat behind a fist. "Okay. We were talking about Ileana?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, but the agony written on her features stopped him. He inhaled. "Milady, if there's anything you wish to speak to me about, it would be in complete confidence."

For a split second, her guard lapsed, revealing a tender insecurity. Then she shook her head. "I'm fine, Qui-Gon." She smiled. "Please, let's get to work."

Qui-Gon returned the smile. "Of course." He tried to ignore the tears trickling down her cheeks. It was her business, even if it did involve his Padawan. _If it's truly serious, Anakin will speak with me._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan sat in the grime, his face a study in serenity. He sensed a disturbance here, but it wasn't necessarily emanating from below. The aura of his surroundings was---off---now, as if the balance had been upset.

He held his lungs still, listening.

There was a tiny scrape. Like a boot touching to the rock-strewn ground. The owner of said boot couldn't be Anakin. Obi-Wan had to admit, the kid had an unmistakable Force presence, one that should be detectable.

And he couldn't ascertain any such connection, not even a wispy grasp of that uniting entity. 

His heartbeat was unaltered, though his premonition of danger had skyrocketed. _Anakin is gone and---_

The thought was left hanging, as he wheeled around, leaping cleanly to his feet. His saber was ignited, the blue blade shooting out to deflect the dart.

Lorb ducked with a surprised 'oof'. 

Obi-Wan held his weapon defensively in front of him, in classic Jedi stance. A strand of ginger fell into his eyes. "Who are you?" His cultured accent was thickened in the shout.

The plump man was about to hold up his hands, until he realized the untrained quality of luminous eyes. "A man who gets what he wants." Lorb spat, flinging another sedative-filled dart, which was effortlessly averted. 

"And what would that be?"

Curling his thick lip, Lorb barreled forward.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, and the stout crook was thrown back, skidding against the wall.

"Answer me!"

Lorb panted. He felt the dribble of burgundy down his forehead and grimaced. "You." He held onto the stone for support as he scrambled to his feet. "I can see why now. Damn, how'd ya do that?"

Obi-Wan grunted. "Practice." He stalked closer, saber buzzing near his chest. "What do you want with me?"

A meaty fist hurdled at him, and the Knight caught the wide wrist between his slender, strong fingers. His lips were pursed. "Now, what do you want with me?!"

Lorb grit his yellowed teeth. "I don't want anything from you."

"Then _who_ does?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge---"

Obi-Wan's hand moved to clench (partially) around his neck. "Who?!"

"Someone who…" His voice started to gurgle, and the Jedi reluctantly loosened his grip. "Who has the power to kill Senator Amidala. At this very moment, if they want."

Obi-Wan's stomach twisted. 

"And if you _don't_ come with me, she'll be as dead as a friggin' doornail. Your Master and the other brat too."

The Knight flinched. His fingers clutched the hilt of his weapon. "And what if you don't get past here? What if I cut you down where you stand?"

Lorb uttered a caustic scoff. "I already alerted my boss. If I don't show up at a certain time, the plan goes into immediate action."

Obi-Wan paused, searching fervently for an alternative, the weight of precious mortality suddenly crushing his shoulders. In the end, there was nothing to be done. Any life was more important than his own. Especially that of Amidala, his beloved Master…even Anakin. He powered down his saber. "Fine."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon halted mid-sentence, fingers going to his temple.

Padme frowned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I---I don't know. It's so murky-" The Master rose from his chair. "I better contact Anakin."

The Senator sat alone at the table, hands folded so tautly they quivered. For a moment, she was allowed respite, and she didn't need to wipe away the misery running down her face. 

__

I…hope he's alright. An icy roil overtook her belly, and she comprehended: Anakin Skywalker was ingrained in her soul now.

He was a part of her.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

It took every fiber of control he possessed to keep Obi-Wan from breaking the hands that gripped his arms. Even worse, to endure the sound of _his_ saber, rattling in his captor's jacket. They were walking down a maze of side streets, the Knight guessed. Unless this man was a complete idiot, he knew barren pathways were the only way to safely transport a…prisoner.

Obi-Wan swallowed. There was no memorizing the turns and steps here. He had no idea where he was, and had to rely on the rough guidance of his kidnapper. There were lifts and staircases, a tiring series of them, until the man halted abruptly.

Obi-Wan's nostrils were confronted a stale, dirt-laced stench.

A new voice floated up among the unrelieved black of his periphery.

"Lorb. I gotta say, I'm impressed."

Obi-Wan went cold. _Lorb?_

Lorb chuckled. "Yeah. I wasn't even trying or nothing. He walked right into it."

Berrel stopped a mere inch from Obi-Wan, surveying the Jedi. "You didn't have to work very hard at all, it seems." He raked his finger along the smooth, round jaw. "Not a scratch anywhere."

Obi-Wan bit down on the flesh of his inner lip. 

"Uh-huh. Well, we came to an understanding." Lorb shook the taller man rudely. "Didn't we?"

Berrel waved his mechanical hand in dismissal. "Let him go. He can't go anywhere."

__

What does that mean? The bruising hands were removed, but Obi-Wan didn't spare a beat for relief. "Where am I? And what am I doing here?"

Berrel circled him, studying the sturdiness of muscles beneath the civilian garb. "You'll do very well." He commented, mostly to himself.

Obi-Wan fought the frustration welling in him. "WHAT am I doing here?"

"Save the anger, kid. You don't intimidate me." He plunged the needle into soft skin, and the Knight crumpled to the ground, unconscious. "Not at all."

It had been sudden, but not too fast for Obi-Wan to send a feeble pulse through the Force. He had scant time to hope before he succumbed to the heavy pull of drugs. 

__

Qui-Gon.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The word had shot into his mind, and Qui-Gon ripped the commlink from his belt.

"Anakin. Padawan, answer me at once."

He could scarcely breathe. The fear, the raw, dizzying fear, was sending his body into shivers. 

Padme rushed toward him. "Qui-Gon?"

But he could only shake his head at her. It felt like the entire Universe was falling apart at its seams. 

Worse…As if the Force were crying out in agony.

Screaming in despair.

"Anakin!"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin pulled out the compact communicator and held it to his mouth. "Master? What's going on?"

The voice that reverberated from the machine was jarringly uneven. "Ani, are you alright?"

The apprentice's hand actually fell to his stomach, where frosty coils of apprehension were tightening. His Master had _never_ sounded so desperate. The pride of the older man had always prevented it. Qui-Gon was broadcasting open alarm. Anakin swallowed. "I'm fine…What's---"

"Where's Obi-Wan?"

He hesitated, and his shaky breath only served to further dismay the Master. 

"Anakin, where is Knight Kenobi?"

Anakin sealed his eyes. "He's back at the first building."

The response to this was eerily calm…and frigid. "What? Where are _you_?"

"H-He was handling it and I just---"

"Anakin, _where are you_?!" Qui-Gon thundered.

The Padawan ignored the shock and dread seizing his heart. "I went ahead to the next spot."

Then there was a silence, during which Anakin felt a piece of his Master break away. 

"Go back. As fast as you can. Keep alert." Qui-Gon ordered dully. "I'll be there soon."

"O-Okay, Master."

Anakin switched off the commlink. He stood, arms hanging at his sides, while he registered the fact that his Master no longer trusted him.

And, again, as it seemed to always be, Obi-Wan Kenobi was to blame.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme laid a hand on the Master's broad shoulder. Both were clammy and cold. "Qui-Gon?"

He was still, gazing out into the Naboo horizon. A beautiful planet, without question. One that held all the natural splendors, all the earthly glories one could ask for. A paradise, some would say. 

A land where his dear friend was lost. Blind and alone.

He sighed, turning from the bitter sight.

When Padme looked into his eyes, the midnight blue was eclipsed by shadow.

"It's too late." Qui-Gon whispered.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel supervised the Jedi's imprisonment, then strolled back into his office, grinning.

Ileana smiled. "Why are you so happy?"

He kissed her cheek. "What would you like, Leana? What're you in the mood for? A few diamond bracelets, a new red speeder?"

Her lip quirked in curiosity. "Why?"

He laughed, throwing his head back. 

Ileana touched his shoulders. "Baby, what's going on?"

Berrel peered down at her with his mouth stretched wide. "I've just '_procured' _a new killer that's gonna set us up _for life._"

She giggled in an light, exasperated spurt. "Are you serious?"

"Mmmhmm."

The woman stood from her chair, moving toward him, a vision in vibrant blue, the drab scenery only enhancing her natural brilliance. Her lips were stained dark maroon and gleamed sensuously, his eyes moving to them. "Can I see him?"

Berrel shrugged, stroking her hair, the red reflecting on his metal hand. "I guess. Though I doubt he'll even notice ya." He pulled her into his arms. His grizzled face was shaded. "He'll be a little…busy."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin pressed his hands over his temples, pacing back and forth, leaving imprints in the fine dirt. 

He gazed up, lips quivering faintly. The sunlight was muted by various poles and rooftops, allowing meager illumination in the space.

__

Good. _The glare just gets in my eyes._

He lowered himself to the ground and bowed his head. It felt better where there wasn't so much light, boring into everything, leaving nothing unexposed.

"Anakin!"

Quickly, he got to his feet, and wiped the powdery soil from his leggings. 

Qui-Gon and Padme were hurrying towards him, the Senator nearly jogging, holding the end of her gown between her fingers.

He met them with a respectful bow.

When he rose, there was no denying the disappointment and brutal appraisal in Qui-Gon's eyes. "Master?" He ventured to speak.

Qui-Gon scanned the small area before answering. "You…didn't see anything?"

Anakin shook his head, his eyes lowered. _He looks at me like I'm nothing. _

The Master stood motionless for a moment, then sighed, turning away. "Obi-Wan." He lamented softly, a great ache passing through him.

Padme stared at the man, accustomed to the sting of tears. She felt Anakin's fingers on her elbow and regarded him solemnly.

"Do you think he's okay?"

The life seemed to have drained from the youth. "He'll be fine. Master's strong."

"No." She blinked, staring out at the stretch of miles before them. "Obi-Wan."

Anakin rubbed her arms. "Yeah. Yeah, he'll be okay."

She went slowly into his embrace, clutching him close.

Anakin nestled in the curve of her neck. He felt the warmth of her sadness spreading on his tunic, and Qui-Gon's intense sorrow bleeding through their bond. 

__

Will Obi-Wan be okay? He thought mockingly, gritting his teeth.

__

I could care less.

"We have to infiltrate the place. Now." Qui-Gon announced, authority ringing in his husky tone. 

Padme pulled away from Anakin, wiping her tears. "Now? But how do you know---"

"There's no other explanation. Naboo is a peaceful planet, and Obi-Wan is the strongest Jedi I have ever seen. It took something incredibly powerful to take him down." He struggled against the words. "It h-has to be Berrel." Qui-Gon glanced at Anakin blandly before pivoting to Padme. "Contact Ileana. Tell her we're going in now."

"Are you sure that's safe?"

Qui-Gon shuddered a breath. "If we wait, he could lose everything." _I could lose everything._

Padme squeezed his hand. "Alright. Whatever it takes, we'll get him out of there."

"Let's go." 

Anakin hastened alongside them, but flicked his eyes back to take in the dark space once more. For some reason, he felt…at home there.

Ahead was uncertainty, danger, reprimands and that blinding sunshine.

And there was Padme.

He would go forward. For her.

But he would carry his real emotion hidden inside. Anakin wouldn't forget this day, or the horrible disdain he sensed in his Master, for an apprentice he probably didn't love anymore.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The first thing he noticed upon awakening was that the musty, stale air blew coldly on his bare chest.

Obi-Wan rubbed at his face, linking the grogginess and heavy limbs to the unknown substance pumped into his system. 

He lay on the stone floor, head flat against the unyielding surface, and throbbing with pain. Confusion fogged his mind, clouding his senses, leaving the Knight grappling for remembrance.

He surely had been properly dressed. In his tunic---no, not today. He had worn a different material. Silky and loose.

Obi-Wan labored to reach a sitting position, propping himself on his palms and outstretched fingers. His surroundings were dripping with dark. The evil just seemed to ooze.

There were other feelings, as well. Fear, bewilderment… suffering.

They tore at his heart, and Obi-Wan had to wince at it all. 

His hair hung limply around his face. His eyes were streaked with red and glazed in pain. Despite this, he pulled himself to an uncomfortable uprightness, allowing his back to curve a bit to dodge the ache. His leggings were smudged with dirt and billowed in the frosty breeze.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, breaths coming in wobbly spurts. 

A door opened, and he turned toward the sound, body rigid, ready for defense.

Berrel walked in, arm dangling languidly off Ileana's shoulder. He saw the Jedi's pitiful state, his desperate grasp onto pride, and couldn't help his laughter. "If I'da known how easy it'd be to crack one of you guys, I'da started years ago. Had me a whole legion of Jedi fighters."

Obi-Wan's upper lip curled. "What you would have is a disembodied head." He dropped his arms and took a step forward. "And I haven't cracked."

Then he had to school his focus directly into the Force, as a strong familiarity swept through him. Something dawned gradually in cerulean and emerald kissed eyes. He moved his head a bit in the direction of Berrel's distinctly female companion.

"Here he is, Leana."

__

Of course. I had forgotten--

"The guy who's gonna make me-us-richer than any royalty."

Ileana's eyes were wide as the Naboo moon, and glowed with horrible shock. She glanced up at Berrel to be certain he was unaware of her surprise, then spoke, in her rich, seducing voice. "He's great, baby."

Obi-Wan swallowed, wishing that this woman had some talent, even a tiny touch, of the Force within her. He needed to talk to Ileana Zimn---now. 

But it seemed someone else was in the mood for conversation.

"Ya hear that, kid?" Berrel slipped away from his lover, striding in a radius around Obi-Wan, always in the midst of disgusting evaluation. "You're a regular freakin' gold mine."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow raised, a habit gained during his adulthood, when he wasn't required to maintain the nearly expressionless obedient demeanor of a student. "How so?"

The man sniggered. "Well, I've been thinking that over. At first, we were just supposda get rid of you. A clean hit."

A chilly tingle collected in Obi-Wan's chest, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"Then I saw your picture, and I immediately spotted potential. I knew you could do great things for us---after a little persuasion."

The younger man answered peacefully, with an underlying intelligence that was undeniable. "Potential for what?"

Berrel smiled. "Oh, come _on_ kid! You've been investigating our set-up here for how long, and you haven't the vaguest idea why we would want you?"

Obi-Wan's lips fell to a strict, thin line. Rage and anxiety needled him. "You can forget it. I'd rather die."

"Brave words from such a helpless fool." He chuckled. "But neither of those are options for you, kid."

Hands clamped onto his arms.

"You have two choices. You can join us willingly---" Berrel pressed course fingers on either side of Obi-Wan's head. "Or I can have everything taken from you. I can trash your whole life, kid, until that's all you are."

Ileana watched the Jedi, standing before this man, his handsome face placid, though his entire world was on the verge of tumbling down around his ears. She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"An empty shell, who'll kill at my bidding, and not for a single credit." He released him and backed away, shrugging. "At least the other way, you'll get decent pay."

It didn't take a heartbeat before Obi-Wan delivered his response. "Never." He spat.

And a great anger scorched in Berrel. He punched Obi-Wan with such brute force, the Knight was thrown against the wall, his head colliding with the crumbling stone. Already a purplish tint marred the smooth, sweaty cheek.

Ileana gasped. "Berrel! What'd you do?!" Without thinking, she rushed to the injured Jedi, resting the bruised head in her lap.

"Get away from him!" He snarled. 

She trembled from the rumbling in his throat, settling Obi-Wan gently on the ground and resuming her place at the man's side.

"That snot is gonna get what's coming to him." He cracked his flesh knuckle. "I'm gonna wipe his mind myself.

"Right now."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon was speaking with the leader of the military team, his hands clamped loosely to his hips, a desolation-and barely contained frenzy- heavy in his blue eyes. The Center was packed with men in street garb, only Master Jinn holding to his Jedi uniform, and actually blended into the earth tones most of the soldiers chose.

Anakin, Padme noticed, was the one who stood out, like a black rose blooming in a bed of white, his dark, tight tunic showcasing muscle and leanness. She realized suddenly she had been staring, for he was looking at her with a mixture of perplexity and smug pleasure. 

Her cheeks flushed, enhancing the pink cosmetic added some hours before. 

He smiled at her shy, irresistible reaction. "I love you." Anakin announced, again, quietly.

Padme brushed her hand down his thickly rippled arm. "Do you think it's true, what Qui-Gon said…" Then she recalled that Ani hadn't been there, and shook her head to clear it, thinking in passing that she should have been more aware of his presence---or lack thereof. "He said it was too late."

Anakin captured a perfect auburn tendril between the pads of his fingers, watching the curl drop, to rest among the other soft spirals. "I'll let you in on a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone."

Her deep brown eyes were adhered to his, glittering, almost intrigued by the mystery in this man. "What?"

A small laugh resounded in his chest. "My Master, his predictions and feelings, aren't always right."

Padme frowned. "He looked so…"

"Sure?" Anakin finished. "Most of the time, he is. He's the greatest Jedi who's ever lived---so far." He added. "But no one's perfect. We'd feel it if Kenobi was dead…"

She bristled slightly at his rough choice of words, lip twitching. 

"And he's not. We'll find him, Padme." In a daring surge of carelessness, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "My Master wouldn't allow Kenobi to be lost."

And Qui-Gon, who had flitted his ever-attentive eyes over to check on the apprentice and young Senator, saw this open intimacy between them. He couldn't be stern, or angry, or _anything._ A fire had extinguished in him, the moment he learned Anakin had left a fellow Jedi in potential danger, a flame that had endured through many long, difficult years.

Qui-Gon didn't want it to be gone…but he had no time to keep vigil over it now.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The pain was beating in his head, and a guttural moan emitted from Obi-Wan, his hand touching gingerly to the sticky spot of blood drying on his temple.

He hissed at the sting, pulling back. 

The cold had seeped through his flesh, down into his lungs, and each intake of air was a harsh, bruising struggle. The violent moments hovered in his consciousness. Absorbing the blow of a solid fist, hearing the protesting cry from Ileana, the cracking knock into the wall. Her fingers, lotion-softened and smelling faintly of vanilla, running carefully along his contused cheek. 

Again, he was completely mindful she was devoid of the Force, in any gifted sense, but her tender kindness, her tremulous courage, had been enough comfort for Obi-Wan, as he drifted from that new, smothering agony that left his head feeling like a crushed-in stone. 

He remembered very little from his days of sight, even though they greatly outnumbered the days without, but he knew hers had to be a face of infinite beauty. At the very least, one of great gentleness. The type that Mejant possessed. Not of bland attractiveness. Distinct, and exquisite because of what resided inside, that flowed to the exterior. Others had not seen in Mejant what Obi-Wan did. 

Which is why he felt endlessly lucky to have her.

And, partly, why he needed to escape this wretched, death-soaked place. 

He missed her sharply now, as he reflected on the wonder of her spirit, more giving, and forgiving, _glorious_, than anyone he had ever encountered. She was the core of his heart, because she kept it beating. 

Even at this instant. This terrifying, discouraging instant. He sighed, and it sounded more like a gasp.

Rusty metal restraints shackled him to the wall, while cold chains forced his ankles to twist around each other. 

He had put his hand to his head.

He found that, after desperate, furious tries, that it would go no further than that. 

A fear had been prickling up his spine ever since his capture. It came to full, ugly bloom, raising bumps on his skin and numbing his mouth.

He had endured this torture, once before.

On Phindar, those many, many years ago. Freshly a teenager, grasping onto his river stone as he grasped to a short lifetime of memories. Shutting out the pain. Facing the demon that was the memory wipe machine, and emerging victorious. 

Then, afterwards, he had dreamed of that time. Dreams where he wandered the streets alone, eyes hollow and soul empty.

Nightmares that he would rip from screaming. Obi-Wan would lay stiff in his bed, just shrieking, until his Master's arms offered him unconditional solace, even in the wee, tired hours. Qui-Gon Jinn would rest his apprentice's head on his massive shoulder, and cradle it in a hand that engulfed the back of the small scull, stroking his damp hair as the terror slowly dissipated, and the disturbing shadows in the dark room fled.

But Qui-Gon wasn't here. Nor was the luminous river stone, warm with the presence of the Force.

All there was was this space. Large or cramped, he didn't quite know.

He did know that it was cold here. And no such thing as the Force existed in its aged walls.

Steps came.

__

Well, I'm not alone.

And a cruel baritone shattered the silence. "You're about the stupidest son of a wench I've ever met, kid." Berrel said snidely, crouching beside the constrained Jedi and cupping the dimpled chin. "You don't get any money, you don't get nothing. And for what?"

He shook Obi-Wan's face in show of his frustration.

Obi-Wan attempted to wriggle from the clamping fingers. His lips were squished, and his words were muffled, but audible. "I…am…Jedi."

"Yeah." Berrel gave a whooping laugh. "For the next few seconds anyway. " He twisted the chin, eliciting a suppressed groan, then stood. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, knowing it wasn't worth the meager energy it required to keep the lids open. "I don't understand what you hope to accomplish."

Berrel snorted, slipping a syringe from his pocket. "Then you _are_ stupid."

Obi-Wan smiled with morbid humor. "I suppose I am, because it won't matter what methods you create to enlist me in your sick army, I won't submit."

"How very gallant of you." He drawled. "But you fail to comprehend. After this, THERE WILL BE NO 'you'. Just a drone ready to be molded." Fingers combed roughly through his hair. "Sculpted into whatever I choose for you to be."

Obi-Wan gulped down the bile thickening in his throat. "I'll still have a thought process. I'll know the difference between right and wrong, you demented---"

Berrel slapped him hard, whipping his head to the side with a loud snap.

"Maybe you will know the difference. But will you care?"

Then he jabbed the needle into the flesh of Obi-Wan's thigh, undeterred by the hands pulling at him, hands infuriatingly out of reach.

There was a fleeting moment of lucidity, when a few half-thoughts skidded over his mind.

Then oblivion.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

Frosty cream coated his tongue, the coolness and smooth texture almost as good as the purely chocolate taste…Bant's eyes were wide and hungry, staring at the towering, wobbling three scoops….He smiled, the dessert spread over his lips, and handed the cone to her….

And the ball was thrown back to him. He couldn't see it, not with the stifling blindfold, but he sensed it hurdling towards him, felt the gush of air, the lingering scraps of his instructor's essence printed upon the round toy. He held out a palm, and it stopped, halted perfectly by his Force-compulsion. As he removed the cloth, he heard Master Gallia remark she had never witnessed an eight year old with such innate reflexes…

With such mild care, the healer lifted him from the glass-scattered ground, his voice shushing him, urging him to forget Bruck's taunts, and focus on healing his injury. He had never hurt so badly…

Than this moment, watching the man walk away from him, his long, gray-streaked man spread down his back. He wanted to despair, wanted to run after him, convince him to come back…

But he couldn't go back. He stood at the ship's ramp, lightsaber gripped by his trembling fingers, a resolve so strong within him that he was helpless to fight it. He witnessed the dismay and sadness flood midnight-painted eyes and he…

Couldn't bear the guilt grinding down this valiant man's soul, standing at Tahl's memorial. He leaned forward, and hugged his Master to him, barely able to breathe…

Under the pressure of the debris. His chest was pinned by pounds of ash and bits of brick, the dust swarming around his face so that tears made clean tracks down his cheeks…

Wiped away by Qui-Gon's hand. He sat huddled beside him in the cavern, insect bits welting his face and neck, without even a watery balm to relieve his discomfort…

Of being tickled. His feet curled against the onslaught of tingling, caused by feather-light Force brushes, and he giggled uncontrollably, until…

Mejant pressed her lips, full and crimson, against his. He was lifted to a place of ecstasy as he simply sat in her presence, as he held her hand…

He could not keep from crying out when the blade slashed across his eyes, and when he knew that there was no hope for…

Anakin, tearing away the last remnants of his life there, etching his own marks, hanging his own dreams in a room where Obi-Wan had once convinced Qui-Gon Jinn to actually play a holo-game, and laughed when, after four hours, he was still glued to the bright screen, laughed…

Even when inside, he wanted to disappear, grinning at Garen when the ache in his heart was so complete he could have sunk to his knees…

Thanking the Force that he had her, that he had something…

Wonderful…A wonderful lightness overtook him, being reunited with the man he had given his life, his spirit to, and feeling the weight of resentment lifted…

Each memory was lifted. Taken.

The machine worked steadily, stealing every moment of Obi-Wan Kenobi's life, reducing his former existence to nothing but a memory itself, for those who had known him…but might never get the chance to know him again.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon marched amid the crowd of troops, barely conscious of his surroundings, or even the Senator, whose eyes wandered constantly to him.

The sun was blistering today, a blazing, molten star that left the creatures dwelling on the land scorching. The glare narrowed his gaze, where tears had already moistened. 

He was not crying. Not yet. It was the sheer severity of the disturbance. The laceration ran long and deep in the Force.

Qui-Gon knew, beyond any doubt, that every Jedi's mind was bleeding. If only a few, small drops, they were all mourning.

Qui-Gon thought of Anakin, turning to study the youth. If he too was suffering the dark uproar, he gave no outward indication. His posture was confident, as usual, his shoulders squared and a small smirk tugging at his lips. The Master wondered if his protégé knew of the pain he caused in his wounded heart. If that smug expression disguised an inner turmoil.

At least a shred of guilt?

The sunlight illuminated the sandy, close-cropped mane, and the ends almost seemed to burn. Then, sensing the attention focused on him, Anakin looked at his Master. There was a shaft of black that somehow fell diagonally across his face. "I _am_ sorry."

Qui-Gon smiled, the strange mist in his eyes, and squeezed the boy's arm. "I know you are, Anakin. I---know."

Anakin scanned his leonine features, searching for a falter in their affection. Gradually, he smiled back. "Thanks."

The tall Jedi peered into the horizon as he spoke. "When we get in there, things have to be done very quickly. I must find Obi-Wan." He huffed. "He is wasting away with each moment. I--I feel it." He turned hesitantly to his Padawan. "Do you feel anything?"

Anakin nodded. "The Force feels…mixed up, I guess. Like something is tampering with it."

Qui-Gon's countenance was hard with weariness and fright. "Like the light is being drained away." Panic shot through him in a flash. "Faster!" He shouted.

Their pace increased, but it wasn't enough. Qui-Gon sprinted ahead of them, barreling toward the underground camp, dampness cooling on his unshaven cheeks. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Ileana opened the compact mirror, and caught a brief look at her reflection. Mascara clouded her tears and clung in unsavory clumps to the fine, dark hairs. Sapphire eye shadow was darkened to blackish smudge. She cursed under her breath, sweeping the pad of her finger to smooth out the make-up, and remove the excess.

Her eyes were hopelessly melancholy. Thin red streaks stained them, and the lashes were now so brittle they looked nearly segmented.

But her lipstick remained miraculously immaculate.

She just had to be sure that Berrel was focused on her smile. So she needed to steer her thoughts from the Jedi, drive the sight of him completely from her mind. Or else she would simply break down.

"I'm feeling damn good, babe." Strong hands ran down the arch of her small shoulders. "_Damn good._"

Ileana wheeled around, long, scarlet hair brushing her waist. "You should. Everything's really coming together."

Her voice had been tired and morose, even as she strove to inject its harmonious, adoring notes. Berrel cocked a dark eyebrow. "Don't you feel good?"

She smiled and moved her heard eagerly in agreement. "Of course." A resplendent grin spread across her face. "We're rich, aren't we?"

He opened his mouth to reply, when one of the men came rushing up to him, glassy eyes round with worry. "There's someone here."

Berrel regarded him coolly, obviously irritated by the interruption. "Could you be a little more specific, ya think?"

The man just blinked at him.

Berrel sighed. "Who is it?!" He barked, causing Ileana to jump.

There was a low-key buzzing noise that approached, and all three pivoted to find the source.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood in the compound's gray, crumbling opening, lightsaber brilliant blue in the dismal atmosphere, face grim. "Me." He said, very calmly.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The sensors attached to his temples crackled and the machine beeped.

Obi-Wan's back arched as another wave of pain assaulted him. The chains only allowed him to recoil so far before snapping him against the wall again.

He couldn't battle this demon, not while the drug coursed through his body, and detached his mind.

For maybe the first time in his life, he was powerless.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel snickered. "You?" He strode nonchalantly forward. "Sorry, pops, but you look about as old as my grandfather."

The snide remark didn't change Qui-Gon's smooth, determined visage. "Appearances can be deceiving."

The man chortled. "Yeah. I suppose. For instance," He removed the blaster from his coat pocket, swinging it with familiarity. "Some might not think I look like a killer." Berrel's mouth curled into a feral smile. "But I am."

Qui-Gon gave a single nod. "So you are."

There was the din of something akin to a stampede, only slower, more organized. Berrel spared a moment to push Ileana behind him, weapon aimed directly at the Jedi's chest, gleaming rusty and brown. 

In less than a minute, men had filled the space. Men with chiseled faces and thick, muscled bodies, who moved swiftly and silently. 

There were other men, Berrel's personal bounty hunters, programmed with painstaking detail, sprawled on the grimy ground, like droids deactivated and disarmed, resting vacant minds. 

None were seriously injured. But in the span of a heartbeat, his army was gone.

And there were dozens of blasters, trained on him, threatening to end this dream he had created for himself and Ileana. Wanting to destroy what wasn't theirs. 

"Just surrender, Berrel." Qui-Gon advised quietly. 

Berrel's upper lip trembled. His eyes traveled the huge mass of soldiers in wild search…and among those, he saw one feminine face, porcelain and beautiful, staring back at him with haunted chestnut eyes. He grinned at Padme Amidala. "Nice to finally meet you in person, oh wise and powerful Senator." 

Padme stepped forward, Anakin at her elbow, his saber held defensively in front of them. 

Her chin titled upward. "End this now, Berrel." She urged, rancor edging in her tone, staring at this man who had killed Rhell Vininon…and so many others, who might go unknown. 

"Listen to that high and mighty voice." Berrel teased. "You think you're still Queen?"

Padme just stood there, gaze moving marginally to the side, to take in Ileana. She felt anxiety needle through her for her brave friend. 

"All you politicians are the same. Greedy and blind." 

Anakin nearly growled. "And what are you?"

Berrel looked at him without the slightest twinge of fear. "A businessman."

The apprehension was leaving Qui-Gon light-headed. "Enough. This has to end. Now. Either surrender--or be taken down."

The dark, bearded man laughed. "Well then…" He pressed down on the trigger, shooting a bright ball of deadly energy toward the Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon deflected the bolt, and it came hurdling at Berrel.

Ileana cried out. Before she understood fully what she was doing, the woman was shoving him out of the bolt's path, while providing an unintentional target.

Her scream echoed throughout the compound, followed closely by Padme's. 

The whole was smoking in her chest. She looked down at it, confused. "Wh---"

Berrel gasped. He scrambled to Ileana and pulled her into his arms, smoothing hair away from her sweaty , pale face.

"Leana." He panted. "What the hell did you---"

"Shhh…" She closed her eyes, patting his arm weakly. "It's alright. I…"

Padme broke free of Anakin and ran to her side, enclosing a shaky hand in her fingers, looking miserably down at Ileana. "No." She rasped. 

Ileana opened her eyes to droopy slits, and all the pain and beauty of her seemed to beat in them. She looked to Berrel, then to Padme. When she spoke, her voice rattled with blood. "For him. " Ileana whispered, gripping the Senator's hand frailly. "Remember, f--friend…" Her focus rolled to the man, who was choking on the sobs building in his chest. "I-It was for him…because of…him…"

Then, the emerald eyes, that carried the light of a million shining stars, shut. Ileana Zimn was gone.

Padme shook her head, tears pouring down her cheeks. "N-No." 

Anakin crouched behind her and gently tipped the Senator against his chest. Padme fell boneless against him. 

Berrel studied the face, forever motionless, everlastingly stunning…and he settled her on the ground, shedding his coat to conceal her lifeless body.

Then he turned, rage cold and dangerous in his eyes. "You!" He barked, pointing at Qui-Gon. "You killed her!" Tears soaked into his short beard and gleamed in the muted incandescence of the compound. 

Qui-Gon could barely stand erect now, as the shocks of turmoil in the Force tortured him. "I have no blaster." It was all he could say. 

Berrel wiped his arm across his bleary eyes. "Shut up! You've taken my whole life, Jedi!" He inhaled bitterly. "Everything."

The Master powered down his saber and stepped toward him. "How many lives have you taken, Berrel? All these men have lost their lives as they knew them."

This, for some reason, caused a sparkle in the man's grim countenance. "And one more."

Dread bit into Qui-Gon, dawning darkly on his face. "What?"

Berrel laughed, and it was not the laugh of a sane man. He sunk down at his dead lover's side, laughing. 

Qui-Gon shot Anakin a look and the apprentice nodded, motioning for the soldiers to arrest him. 

And the Jedi dashed down the shriveled corridors, while the maniacal giggles reverberated off the walls.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The anguish was so deep and overpowering that Qui-Gon was led straight to the room. The door was composed of dense cement, with a mess of bolts and chains locking it securely, if crudely.

One brisk, downward strike, and all the shackles were sliced through, clattering to the ground in a puddle of melting silver.

He nearly staggered against another swell of pain in the Force. Tears trickled freely as the Master shoved open the gargantuan door, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and the weakness of his knees.

But when he saw what lay inside the insidious room, he suddenly could no longer hold his weight.

Qui-Gon dropped beside Obi-Wan, ripping the metal clamps away with a desperate, angry cry. 

Obi-Wan was limp in his hold, body draping over the brawny arm, head dangling over the side.

"Obi-Wan." The older man gasped, touching his fingers delicately onto the reddened temples. "Obi?"

The Knight was unresponsive. His mouth hung open; white, only slightly imperfect teeth peeking out. His skin was flushed a rosy pallor. Sweat snaked down his hair-plastered forehead. 

Qui-Gon spread his hand out to support Obi-Wan's head, alarmed at the heat that met his palm. "Obi-Wan?" He called, more insistently, rich voice carrying into the hallway and echoing in the tiny room. He carefully shook the still form. "Obi-Wan, answer me!"

The face, just as lovely and innocent, stayed frighteningly lax. 

Qui-Gon cursed, lifting him and cradling him against his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to Obi-Wan's. "It'll be okay." He promised fiercely. He kissed the hot flesh, covered in a sheen of sickly perspiration. "It'll be okay."

It was a mantra, repeated over and over, as Qui-Gon made his way to the main area of the compound, stepping over the men, tucking the half-naked Obi-Wan into the comforting shelter of his robe.

Padme and Anakin looked up when the Master approached. 

The Senator released a short, surprised sound, moving in a fast, fluid way to the two Jedi. She reached out hesitantly to stroke the damp, stringy ginger hair, sniffling.

Anakin came to the group much slower, seemingly without any need for haste. He stood alongside Padme.

Qui-Gon lifted his eyes to his apprentice, and Anakin thought he had never seen such a poignant display of agony. It pierced his heart, because, he realized, he really did love his Master. Almost to the extent he loved Padme. They were the two who mattered in his life.

And their attention was rapt on Kenobi. At that moment, Anakin knew that there was no convincing them that Obi-Wan was anything less than what they believed. 

He couldn't share their misguided sentiments---but he could hide his own feelings, if it meant growing closer to those he cared about.

So Anakin Skywalker joined in their woe, and placed a single finger on Obi-Wan Kenobi's cheek.

Only to recoil, as a bright light burned in his mind, surpassing any brilliance he might have experienced in his Jedi career…in his life. It was too much, and it didn't feel right. 

Something was definitely wrong with the Knight now. But whatever it was, it hadn't changed the pure Force that illuminated his essence.

Anakin frowned, shutting his eyes against the unconscious man, and thought, dreamed, of a life without his irritating influence.

He did not quite yet know how close he was to that morbid fantasy. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"I look forward to meeting with you again, gentlemen." Palpatine said, smoothing his voice into the good-natured lilt while maintaining its cultured tinge, and stood from the high-backed leather chair. 

His robes of office were regal and decadent. _A family could eat a year with the credits spent for this useless rag._ He observed with an oily curve of his lip, swiping a wrinkled hand down the length of the velvet purple material. _But if some must starve so that others can enjoy the finer things…so be it._

He almost laughed aloud, but realized, in present company, it would be frowned upon.

Still, Palpatine couldn't resist a small, hushed chuckle. His thoughts had been buoyant lately, and why wouldn't they be? The plans, the fruit of his life's work, had begun to ripen.

For now, he would leave Kenobi to the Jedi, allow him time to adjust. _Let them fill his precious head with their lies._ The wan politician strode down the sleek corridor, giving tight, polite nods and smiles with sealed lips to those who met him in passing. It sometimes sickened him to think of how insignificant all these creatures were, scurrying about the Universe, as purposeful as a clinging glob of slime. 

They would hold to their world for a bit, accomplish their petty little goals, if they even had the ambition to do set any, then die, without notice. 

It was the way things were. Unless, of course, you were Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

A tingle rushed up Palpatine at the thought of the young Knight. The Chancellor often found it excruciating to try and function among these common slugs, when he could be in the presence of Kenobi, the elite of the Order…the Chosen One of man---and any other---kind. 

Just to touch that mind, that mind surging with raw, beautiful power…

Palpatine smiled wider. _Soon, my apprentice. _Through the Force, he felt the general hysteria overcoming the ethereal entity, knew without question the only man who could cause such a maelstrom of complete misery and confusion. The man that, when was troubled, could send the united energy of an entire galaxy into upset. 

__

I will teach you everything you need to know.

And you will be mine… The Emperor heaved a sigh through his nostrils. _At last._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon glanced out the window, seeing Naboo awash with the temperate colors of nightfall. A few hours had gone by since the ambush on the despicable compound.

Anakin was assisting the soldiers in explaining the incident with planet authorities. Padme, who was white and fragile as bleached silk, had stayed with Ileana, a hand resting on her slain friend's cooling forehead, until the body was taken away.

The Master had cajoled her into returning to her residence for the evening. Her eyes were red, the skin surrounding them pink and puffy. But, for one so stunning, even grief could not taint her loveliness, as she rose gracefully from the crime scene and nodded, before walking numbly to a waiting transport.

Berrel was swept away by several policemen. His hoarse ramblings were largely ignored.

And Obi-Wan. Sweet, earnest, _remarkable _Obi-Wan, lay in the thin hospital bed, neural sensors taped to his traumatized forehead, and tubes hooked to his arms, sending liquids intravenously to his dehydrated system. 

Qui-Gon laid his palm against the ashen face. "How many times must we endure this scene, Padawan?" He asked softly, brushing back the damp, dirty strands of red-gold hair. 

The sweat glistened on Obi-Wan's skin. Weary black blotted the space beneath his lusterless eyelashes. 

Qui-Gon swallowed, adjusting the blanket around the slim waist nervously. He remembered peeping into the boy's room late at night, to be sure he was sleeping, and discover the scamp had kicked the blankets into a mound at his feet. The amused Master would step closer to see the young body shivering.

The tiny, dreamy smile that touched his mouth was reason enough to settle the covers atop him again. 

Now, under the sour glow of artificial lighting, Obi-Wan didn't look strong enough to give the linens a single nudge. 

The physician, a bookish older man with a gleaming, bald head, assured Qui-Gon that the unconscious state was merely fulfilling a need for rest. Obi-Wan's ordeal had to be exhausting, but the sleep, while deep and lingering, was nowhere near catatonic. 

There was a limited amount of brain activity, the doctor admitted, but that was also to be expected. 

Qui-Gon ghosted his fingers across the slumbering Knight's forehead. _I wonder if you dream, my Obi-Wan. _He took a shuddering breath, unheeding of the tears sliding from his tired eyes. _I wonder…if you have anything to dream of anymore._

Obi-Wan moaned, a crease forming between his brows.

Qui-Gon felt his heart contract painfully. He stroked the handsome, ashen face. "Shh…It's alright. I'm right here."

But Obi-Wan was not assuaged by the soft murmurs. He stirred weakly, broken, incomprehensible words falling from his mouth. 

Qui-Gon moved to sit on the bed, and gathered the distressed man in his arms, rocking gently.

Then, like a child soothed from the grip of nightmare, Obi-Wan relaxed in his former Master's embrace, burying his head in the frayed robe, as the pain drifted, at last, from him.

And he felt nothing at all. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme stood at her bedroom's entrance, an elegant, slim hand gripping the doorframe. She stared at the darkened chamber, eyes itching from the constant flow of tears. 

Now, looking at the bed, the moisture dried in them.

She moved toward it, a lofty mattress adorned in rich fabrics and bordered by classical sconces. 

The coverlet was smooth, without the slightest crease or indentation. Nothing to hint at what had happened there the night before.

Padme leaned against the cherry wood bed post, her head resting lightly upon the stylized grooves. Her gown was loose, and lent the air of a graceful spirit, walking the worlds in shadow…or an angel, dwelling the moons of Iego, stardust sprinkled about her.

She smiled, remembering the boy, much an angel himself, who had declared her to be one of the fabled, winged women. He had been so innocent then, an aura as pure as driven snow. 

Padme smiled ruefully, giving up her battle against the warm tracks of tears. There HAD to be traces of that child in Anakin. He was a good man. After all, he was a Jedi. 

She looked at the bed again. Maybe it wasn't the place where her virtue was shattered. 

Maybe it was the place where her truest love was discovered.

Padme sunk down into its comfort, curling the heavy blankets around her.

She slept. 

Her dreams were tainted with the vision of Ileana as she shoved Berrel from the blaster's path…the flash of shock and regret in those citrus eyes. 

Then, the feeble message, whispered through numbing lips: _Remember friend, it was for him… because of him._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"That's all we'll need for now." The chief said, scribbling something on his notepad. 

Anakin eyed the unusual object with a raised brow. "A little old-fashioned, isn't it?"

The dark-featured man shrugged. "I trust myself more than some machine, kid. If those idiots out there don't watch it, one day the machines'll rule _us_."

The Jedi smiled respectfully, but his eyes danced with mocking humor. "Yeah."

The chief rubbed his wrinkled face. "Well, I'm feelin' a little parched after all that." He looked up at the towering boy. "Wanna join me in a round or two at the pub down the street?"

Anakin nearly snorted. "Thanks, but I drink alone." _Definitely not with a lowly slob like you._ He stalked out of the station.

The man shook his head. "If that's a Jedi, I'd rather have machines." He muttered, and would spend the remaining sliver of the night lamenting a Universe in rapid decay.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The morning came, draping the planet in its customary splendors, casting a golden warmth to all it touched.

He felt that heat spilling onto his cheek and whimpered, burrowing deeper into the soft support around him.

But then something in his mind snapped, like a sudden awareness. His eyes shot open.

He was confronted with a thick, uninterrupted veil of black. 

He breathed heavier, the foggy remnants of his thoughts swirling.

…_where…what…who…who…oh…_

He went cold and still as stone. 

__

Who am I?

And, because his desperate attempts to answer these questions were in vain, he did what was natural.

He screamed.


	8. Dim as Embers

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Eight: Dim as Embers

Someone holds me safe and warm

Horses prance through a silver storm

Figures dancing gracefully across my memory…

Far away, long ago

Glowing dim as an ember

Things my heart used to know

Things it yearns to remember… ---Lynn Ahrens

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel shivered, arms tight around his chest. When the officer asked him again, he only shook his head feverishly, his wet, dark hair whipping with the movement. 

Jarqu sighed. "Damn it, you're not crazy! And you sure as hell were never meek before." He stared down at the criminal, contempt bare and burning in his brown eyes. "Tell me where this Lorb guy is!."

Berrel's cracked lips quivered. Then, he shook his head.

"Damn you!!" Jarqu thundered, smashing his fist against the steel desk, causing the other man to jump. "I don't buy this crap for a second!"

Berrel stared ahead. His gaze was glassy and hopelessly lost. "Leana." He rasped.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon nearly screamed himself, sitting up rim-rod straight, eyes searching Obi-Wan's face wildly. "Obi-Wan?" He grasped the pale arms. "Obi-Wan, what's wrong?"

The man was panting, head turning every which way. And he kept rubbing his eyes, over and over. "What? What's…going on?"

The voice held to its cultured accent, but sounded vaguely childish…thoroughly frightened.

Qui-Gon lifted one hand to smooth the riot of ginger spikes. "It's alright, Obi-Wan---"

He managed to swallow. "Wh-Who's Obi-One?"

Qui-Gon's hand dropped.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin stumbled into the suite, swallowing the belch that was collecting in his throat. Morning shone brightly through the open window.

He grunted, clenching shut his red-stained eyes and closed the drapes with a Force-suggesting sweep of his hand. 

The rooms were still and quiet.

Quiet. 

He forced down another sour burp, the intensity causing his head to pound harder.

"Ugh." _No sound…is good. _Anakin walked, or hobbled, to the sofa, every line of his body suggesting he was a much older, stiffer man. He collapsed gratefully against the posh cushions.

Then he opened his eyes, moist and dazed, gazing into nothing.

"Well, it didn't work." He mumbled, sounding as if several balls of cotton were stuffed in his mouth. "Nothing e-e-ever works."

A wave of nausea ran through him, and the apprentice laid a palm flat on his muscled belly. "But I-I-I've got Padme…Yeah. I got her. Yeah." He smiled sloppily. "And she'll talk to me. Yeah, she won't care if I do bad things. She won't care at all. No. 'Cuz she's…." He trailed off, licking his lips, smacking them together in a totally unflattering fashion. "A-And who cares what Master thinks? Huh? Who cares what the old jerk thinks about anything? Right?"

He paused, almost like he was waiting for a response from the motionless room.

"Yeah, he's just an old jerk anyway, issssn't he? " Anakin laughed. "Thinks he's b-b-better than me? But I'm better than e-e-everyone. I know that. I know that."

And, even in his inebriated stupor, a darkness rippled through him. "I'm much much better than Ke-e-enobi, that's for sssure." His eyes began to droop, his lips going a little slack. "What'sss he gonna be good fer now?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon braced the sweaty, ghostly white face with his hands. "YOU." He said fervently. "YOU are Obi-Wan."

Tears started in unfocused eyes. "I-I don't know w-w-what you're talking about."

Qui-Gon turned away for a split second, breath stolen from him. _No._ His body, his massive, powerful body…began to tremble. "It can't be." He whispered, and his voice was so small it was unrecognizable.

Obi-Wan tensed further, his teeth clamping together, the tears trickling silently down to kiss his lips. 

The Master regained his composure, as much as possible, and met the tragically confused face again. "Do you remember anything? It doesn't matter what…" His eyes bore deeply into cerulean, searching for a twinkle of his dear Obi-Wan. "Do you remember anything?"

The younger man paused, forcing the quakes in him to still. His mind wasn't blank, not exactly, for he could recall how to string words together. He knew how to speak.

But, as he tore through the corridors of his aura, he realized that, beyond the simple processes instinctive to a human being, that was all he knew.

Misery coursing down his roughened cheeks, Obi-Wan shook his head. "N-N-No."

And then, Qui-Gon did something that he rarely did. 

He broke down into sharp, tortured sobs, pulling this empty shell who resembled his Obi-Wan against him, grasping to someone who was no longer there.

Obi-One, as he supposed he was called, could do nothing in his weakened state but lay his weary, aching head against a huge shoulder and pray this was only a dream.

Hope it was nothing but a nightmare.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme rolled onto her side, resting her cheek against a thin palm, snuggled comfortably in the cool, silk sheets. She came to consciousness slowly, grasping to the fading void, the sweet release of sleep warm inside her. 

But it couldn't linger forever. Grudgingly, her eyes opened , the lashes fluttering a few times before they focused. 

There was a moment when she was simply there, without the events of the past days hovering sickly around her. When she was at peace.

Then, awareness crept into her mind, with sharp and biting claws…Thoughts bled from the wounds.

And two faces rose in her mental periphery. One strong, self-assured. Another lovely, but tainted by pain.

Oh, how she wanted to forget. Just for a little while. 

Only until she could handle it. Now, at this early, blurred time, she couldn't. 

  
Knowing all that was lost---to so many---how could she move forward without collapsing?

She sighed, glancing at the vacant pillow beside her, wondering why she hurt so badly, why her heart soaked up every horrible drop of agony, while happiness shriveled. 

There was much to mourn. An innocent, courageous woman was dead, as was an equally wonderful man. They were gone.

Tears spiked in her eyes. _Ileana. _

Padme turned, burying her face in the nest of blankets, trying to control her drastic breaths. 

__

Obi-Wan…What's happened to him? 

It was as if her body was chiseled of ice as she lay thinking of the Knight. Cold and quiescent, the fear roiling in her belly.

__

What if Berrel---what if he succeeded? What---What…

She shot out of bed, sprinting to the comm unit, trembling beneath her flowing nightgown. 

Nearly a minute passed before a voice responded. "Wha?"

Padme almost smiled. "A-A-Anakin?"

He could hear the sorrow and shakiness in her voice, realized she probably noticed the stuff quality of his. "Padme?" He cleared his throat. "Are you alright? "

"I-I'm fine." She croaked. "But Obi-Wan?"

Anakin rolled his scarlet-streaked eyes. "I have no idea. Master hasn't been back."

In her hysteria, she didn't recognize the careless tone. "I'm coming over there. Okay?"

He grinned, running fingers through mussed hair. "Okay--But is it safe? Maybe you should---"

"No. I'll just tell my driver. I--I'll be safe with him."

"Okay." His words were soft. "I love you."

Padme blinked. "See you soon, Ani." She answered.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon pulled back a fraction, his hands gripping Obi-Wan's arms. "It'll be alright." He soothed the pale man, the trembling of his words dashing any illusion of confidence in the statement. He smiled then, stroking one damp, smooth cheek. "Don't worry…"

Obi-One was comforted faintly by the tender touch. His mind was a bland landscape composed of a dark pallet, but this man, whomever he may be, was offering a scintilla of light. "I--I.." _I'm scared._ He gulped with a quiet click, moisture gleaming on fine, chiseled lips. "I want to know your name." Obi-One admitted weakly.

Qui-Gon nearly surrendered to his grief again. Those eyes, though they could never achieve true blankness, were shining with confused melancholy. In their cerulean depths, the Master found the innocence his former Padawan had harbored, that glowed brightly amid the wash of tears. _You're there, my Obi-Wan. Somewhere… _"I'm Qui-Gon Jinn." He supplied, combing fingers through the wet, ginger mane. 

Obi-One nodded slightly. "Okay…Qui-Gon." The name came out a bit clumsily, even with the natural grace of a cultured inflection. He took a breath. "Why can't I see you?" A tense pause. "Or anything?"

Qui-Gon flinched. Telling his Padawan of his permanent handicap had been the worst moment of his life. He never entertained the awful notion he would be made to repeat it. "You were blinded, Obi-Wan. In a battle about ten years ago."

Another stiff nod. "A battle? Am I a soldier?"

"No."

Obi-One's brow furrowed. "Then what? Was there a war?"

Images of strife-torn Naboo flashed through his mind. "Yes. It only lasted a few days, but many died. You were--injured--protecting the Queen of the planet Naboo."

Uneasiness prickled down Obi-One's spine. _So scared…_ "Am I a bodyguard?"

Qui-Gon gave a heavy, unhappy sigh. "No. Let me try to explain this. It may seem odd at first," He watched the young face raptly, "But you must trust that it's the truth."

Obi-One was suddenly cold. "O-Okay."

The Master spared a moment to touch his shoulder before delving into the detailed, and most likely disconcerting, litany. "You're a Jedi, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One scanned his mind quickly, hope tingling in his fingertips, but the strange word held no meaning for him. 

"The Jedi are an Order. An elite I suppose you could say." He took a frail hand in his, rubbing the raised veins of the lean wrist. "Your blood, everyone's blood, contains something called medi-chlorians."

"Medi---chlorians?" Obi-One repeated.

Qui-Gon smiled. _He was always a fast learner. Thorough---_ His heart revolted against the bitter reminisces, and he refused to bring the thought any further. "Yes. They're tiny organisms that live within us. We are given power from them, and they in turn receive it."

"So it's a symbiotic relationship?" He ventured.

Qui-Gon actually grinned. "Yes. Exactly."

A flush colored Obi-One's cheeks. 

"Every creature has their own number of medi-chlorians. Some have very few, and some have impressive amounts. Those who possess many, or are suspected to, are tested, and if the number is high enough, the Jedi take them to their Temple. This must be done when the creature is very young, during infancy, or not at all. It can be dangerous if they wait---" He paused, realizing with a sick roil of his stomach the circumstance of Anakin's recruit. He shook his head to clear it. "A high count of medi-chlorians allows the creature incredible, rare abilities provided through the Force."

"The Force?" Obi-One asked calmly, a bit irritated that all he offered to the conversation were questions.

"The Force." Qui-Gon confirmed. "It's the energy that unites every living thing. Those with high medi-chlorians can sense it well, and if they're taken in by the Jedi, learn to attune themselves to it. " Mild understanding, mixed with bewilderment, swirled rather beautifully in Obi-One's sightless eyes. "The Jedi grow to become warriors, but they're never soldiers. They offer protection to the weak, but they're not bodyguards." He chuckled lightly. "Well, not usually."

Obi-One gave a kind, close-mouthed smile. 

"We are trained to defend justice and keep the peace. Children are schooled by a variety of teachers, until they turn thirteen, and a Jedi Master chooses them for their Padawan." He saw the expected crinkle of the round forehead. "Padawan is another word for apprentice."

Obi-One nodded.

"A Master teaches the Padawan until the child is prepared for the trials. If they pass those tests, they reach Knighthood, and the cycle continues." Then he laid his hands on the curve of young cheeks. "You were my Padawan, Obi-Wan."

"I was?" He whispered, almost reverently.

"You were." Qui-Gon stroked the golden skin with his coarse thumb. "For twelve years, you fought and mediated, laughed and cried at my side. You grew from an insecure child to a smart, strong teenager to an…astounding, compassionate, puissant man."

Tears were traveling down Obi-One's face, but he smiled through them. "I-I'm not your…Pa--Padawan anymore?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Qui-Gon swallowed, patting his head. "It was just time."

"Oh." The younger man said in a soft tone. _Do I miss you?_

The sorrow and surrealism had built to an unbearable height. Gently, his movements filled with sensitive care, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-One down to the bed.

Obi-One sunk against the pillow, his rebellious body weakening. "Qui-Gon?"

"Yes?"

He brought a hand up, and somehow, touched directly upon the man's face, as if he'd known instinctively where it was. He traced the features, feeling a broad nose and short beard. "Am I blind---permanently?"

Qui-Gon had to take a sharp breath. "Yes, Obi-Wan."

"Oh." Obi-One sniffed. "I figured--I mean, it's been ten years--I was just---"

A finger pressed to his lips. "It's alright." He tucked the sheets around his waist. "Now, rest." His fingers then ghosted across Obi-One's temple. "Your head must ache."

Obi-One nodded. Qui-Gon could see him slipping from consciousness, despite his efforts. 

But Obi-One managed to speak. "Thank you…for helping me." He murmured.

A droplet fell to the handsome face, and Qui-Gon wiped it away. "I'll be here for you, Obi-Wan." He swore. "You won't have to deal with this alone."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

On a planet far from Naboo, a man, swathed in shadow, was making similar plans.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would surely not be alone.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

There was a polite tap at the door, and Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder, fingers twined with the sleeping young man. 

Mazella Gale was an expert in memory loss. Her credentials were extensive and impressive, ranging from simple repression to full-blown amnesia. Her name was becoming synonymous with the grievous malady…because, Qui-Gon hoped, she was brilliant at discovering, and remedying, the cause. Gale was revered for her sharp intelligence and commiseration when it came to handling her patients.

The weary Master stood, smoothing his tunic as he moved. "Dr.Gale." He bowed respectfully.

It was a small, tremulous voice that answered. "Master Jinn, it's an honor." 

Another reason Mazella Gale was so imposing was the fact she was barely twenty cycles old. And far from human.

Her hair, salmon streaked with a milky sort of gray, hung in crimped tendrils to her waist. Her skin was smooth saffron, with tiny, blue cosmetic jewels bordering the bottoms of eyes the color of violet rain. A large tattoo marked her high forehead, some strange design Qui-Gon couldn't quite place with an origin.

Her body was neither thick nor slim, covered in loose scrubs that completely hid any figure she may have. Hands of six fingers were decked in similar tattoos. 

When she smiled, periwinkle lips stretched wide. "I had never hoped to meet a Jedi under these circumstances." She grasped his hand in hers, and he felt a comforting warmth radiate from the luminous physician. "But perhaps I can help." Striking eyes fell at last to Obi-One, and immediately a darkness engulfed the purple. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I had to come from quite far."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "All that matters is that you're here."

She smiled before sitting on the edge of the sleepcouch beside her patient. Mazella studied the undeniably beautiful face as she spoke. "He has expressed no knowledge of his life whatsoever?"

Qui-Gon, too, stared down at his one-time apprentice's breathtaking visage. "None." He said quietly, not bothering to mask the despair.

She laid her palm against Obi-One's forehead. "How has he behaved since his initial awakening?"

"Wonderfully. Just wonderfully…" He dried an unbidden bead of moisture from the corner of his eye. "He's been afraid, of course. And terribly bewildered. But he's Obi-Wan.." Qui-Gon slumped his shoulders and sighed. "He's still Obi-Wan."

Mazella glanced up at the elder. "I know he is, sir." Understanding beat from her very soul. "And it will be my mission to free him."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin sensed Padme's arrival before she ever entered the Plaza. 

He smiled, heading to meet her. The apprentice passed an intricate, full-length mirror and paused, taking in his reflection with a satisfied smirk, thinking of the radiant politician…woman.

He wondered how often it happened in the Universe. 

If it was miraculous that two people, people perfect both physically and mentally, gifted beyond reason, it seemed, would meet _and_ fall in love--twice. 

There was a timid tap at the door. 

Anakin was _very nearly_ surprised. He supposed he had lingered at the looking glass too long. "Coming." He called.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Mazella, Dr. Gale, had expected the young Jedi to waken under her probing ministrations. But Obi-One's face was a soft study in tranquility, his red-gold lashes resting against pale cheeks. He breathed in the even pattern of sleep.

She was no Jedi, possessing not even a scintilla of Force sensitivity, but Mazella could actually feel Kenobi's exhaustion.

Her heart began to ache for his horrifying ordeal. "He's a little feverish--"

"Is he ill?" Qui-Gon asked quickly, unable to grasp to any sort of patience while his friend lay pallid on the cot. 

Mazella shook her head, moving delicate, pinkish strands as she did. "The…memory wipe, " She managed to force from her throat, hating the pain flashing across the Master's midnight blue eyes, "Basically drained him of his energy. He's beyond tired, and that would naturally affect his system." The physician reached forward, patting Qui-Gon's forearm for a brief, tender moment. "But the sleep should help greatly." 

She stood, tucking a holo notepad under her arm. "Still, he should be fed liquids for a good twenty four hours, at least." Irritation misted on her pretty face. "I don't know why he hasn't already."

As the woman headed for the door, Qui-Gon could hear her grumble about the inadequacies of this blasted hospital, of most hospitals.

He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at him. Mazella Gale had projected an aura of genuine care and intelligence, never really daunted by Qui-Gon's title or stature. Her concern was her patient. Qui-Gon was sure it would have been the same unwavering focus with anyone, Jedi or peasant.

The Master rejoined Obi-One, settling at his bedside, sinking into a meditative state, his hand clutching to Obi-Wan's. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Thank you." Padme murmured quietly, eyes flashing up to meet his before she bowed her head. 

Anakin frowned, following her inside. She was dressed in plain gray slacks and a black, beaded top. Her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. 

When she turned to look at him her face was made-up, but only half-heartedly, her lashes and lips pale. 

__

Still so beautiful. He took a porcelain cheek in his hand. _Force, I want you._

Maybe she felt the intense heat boiling at his surface, for the Senator took a step backward. "I don't really know why I came---it's just that---"

He claimed those lips with his own, kissing her deeply.

She indulged a moment, then pulled away and wiped at her mouth. "It's just that I can't feel…" Padme gazed into his dark eyes, searching unconsciously for a twinkle of light. "I can't feel anything beyond the pain. I feel.." She swallowed a sudden rising sob. "I feel like.."

Anakin shook his head, catching a delicate tear on his fingertip. "You don't have to feel the pain." He whispered huskily, encircling her waist. "You can feel…"

He kissed her hard. "…Ecstasy."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Mazella sat at her desk, in the makeshift office that was normally a storage room. Columns of steel boxes engulfed the tiny space, along with teetering stacks of holodisks. 

She sighed.

The Jedi's face, young and sharply exquisite, plundered her thoughts, stealing her attention from anything else. Lying flat there on the bed, his skin near translucent, vulnerability evident in every quiver of his body.

And his friend, so graceful, so broken.

They were enough to shatter the strongest, the coldest of hearts. 

Their connection was obvious.

She smiled, tears inexplicably welling in violet eyes. 

They were the reason she chose to become a physician in the first place. To relieve their plight… Mazella would pray to each little god she could think of.

The young woman knew, as many did.

Somehow, Obi-Wan Kenobi was vital to Naboo…to the Universe. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon sat in the hard, unyielding infirmary chair. Shards of dark and light cut his face into a shadowy mosaic, set to luster by a pair of sapphire tinted eyes. His massive back was sloped in a line of misery mingled with weariness. 

His hands, so large and achingly callused, cradled the tiny object as though any roughness would cause it to splinter and shatter. 

But he knew the underlying strength of it. It belonged to his pada---his Obi-Wan. So the power was obvious, pumping beneath its smoothed surface, as it coursed through the Knight's veins. 

Even now, Qui-Gon was sure. 

Yet, the warmth was all but gone. The river rock, veined with scarlet when touched by Obi-Wan, was dead black…dead cold. 

Gently, the Master took one of his companion's hands and pressed the aged treasure into the sweaty palm, then curled his fingers around it. 

The younger man's eyelids fluttered, and he turned his head restlessly, tightening his grip on the stone and laying the fist on his chest. Against his heart. 

Qui-Gon felt the stirring of the Force in him, marveled at the sheer capabilities he wielded, despite his terrible, debilitating situation. He closed his eyes for a moment to allow the sweet aura to flow freely around him…

And heard the much-beloved voice speak, though tainted by pain and exhaustion. "What--What's going on?"

Qui-Gon settled his hand on the curve of Obi-One's neck. "Shhh. It's alright." 

Obi-One seemed to struggle to accept the calm words. His chest moved a bit faster than usual, his toes clenched. "I--I just don't know what's happening. I c-can't s-s-see.." To his supreme embarrassment, tears began to well and tremble in sightless eyes. 

Qui-Gon gathered him to his chest without thought, tucking the ginger head beneath his chin. _Maybe I'm making him uncomfortable. _He worried faintly. _He's only 'known' me for a few hours, really. In his mind, we're not nearly familiar enough._

The arms that gradually wrapped around his waist answered that question, and his concerns, in that respect, fled. 

"I know it's hard." He murmured into his ear. "But you'll make it, Obi-Wan. You did it before, you did it beautifully before." Qui-Gon leaned back. "It just takes time." 

Obi-One nodded slightly. He grasped a handful of dampening tunic. Somehow, he could sense the brilliance of the distant sun. He wished fervently that a trace of that heat could reach him. The tears ran copiously down his bristled cheeks. "W-Will you.." He began shyly, "Will you tell me something…about me?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "Of course, Obi-Wan. What would you like to know?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme leaned into the kiss, as a great fire engulfed her body, and she framed his face tightly with her hands….she felt the pain of losing her virtue…of Rhell Vininon murdered as he lay asleep…of Obi-Wan, being robbed of his lovely, loving mind…

She began to tear at Anakin's tunic.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-One shrugged weakly, a flush rising in his ivory-pale cheeks. Qui-Gon brushed his fingertips along the tear tracks. "Tell me something about us."

"Alright." The older man began scanning his memory, his mental touch caressing past days and nights, waiting for one that would glide like silk, that would wrap around this tortured soul and offer some sort of solace. 

Then, he knew. 

"You were about nineteen---"

Obi-One wondered briefly how old he was now.

"And we had been stranded on this desert world. The ship was destroyed…

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

A smoking wreck in the distance, that had clouded the bright, clear sky with black fumes. 

The sun still managed to beat down miserable heat upon the planet's scarce inhabitants.

At the moment, Qui-Gon wouldn't have been surprised to learn he and his apprentice were the ONLY life forms walking the rough, unforgiving terrain. Since their crash, the pair had suffered the heat and discomfort of their injuries, hoping they would come across aid.

Two days later, and the horizon was an empty promise streaked in dismal browns and reds. 

Their skin was shining with burn. Tunics, what was left of them anyway, clinging to their wet chests and backs. 

The soiled garment held so snugly to Obi-Wan's frame that the smooth curve of his spine was visible. 

At first, the Padawan had pulled at the heavy material. But, slowly, he was losing his awareness of the irritation. He journeyed at his Master's side as though he were mindless, cracked mouth opened minutely, breaths rattling.

Each inhale was torture for Qui-Gon to hear. 

When dusk fell, and at last the sizzling demon overhead gave way to a gentler moon, they stopped.

"We'll rest here for tonight." Qui-Gon announced, looking around the sandy area grimly. "I suppose it's as good as any. This entire damned world looked the same."

Obi-Wan didn't respond with his usual sarcastic quip, or humoring snort of laughter. He shed his small pack and sunk to the ground. Concern flashed in Qui-Gon's watered gaze. 

"Padawan, are you alright?"

A stale nod. 

Qui-Gon sighed, settling down beside him. 

The yellow-tinted light cast a glow on the rampant perspiration of Obi-Wan's face, deepened the dark smudges beneath his tired eyes. 

Qui-Gon moved to smooth a dripping lock of hair behind Obi-Wan's ear. "O---"

"I've been saving this for you." The youth interrupted. He unhooked his canteen from his belt and held it out to his friend. 

Qui-Gon just looked at it, then at the strange, half-smile Obi-Wan wore. "What? What is this?"

If he was blushing, the color was lost among the molten scarlet. Cerulean eyes glittered. "It's your birthday." He said hoarsely.

"Oh." The Master smiled, cupping the dimpled chin. "Thank you but…"

"NO." Obi-Wan frowned, and pushed container at him. "Take it. You need it a-and---it's your birthday."

Qui-Gon brought his arm around his apprentice's shoulders. "YOU need it, Padawan. And if you're in need, my duty is to see that it's fulfilled." There was a fond, yet rebuking, tingle to his voice. "Now, take this back. I'd rather have my Padawan alive than an extra canteen." He took a swig from his own reserve of water. 

Obi-Wan reluctantly accepted the return. "Th-Then what can I…"

Abruptly, Qui-Gon took him into a warm, close embrace. "This. This is what you can give me, Obi-Wan.

"All I need is you, my sweet child."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

When the last reminiscent word had fallen from Qui-Gon's lips, he looked down at the man bundled in his arms, waiting.

Obi-One's hands were clasped together. Tears spilled in an endless, unbidden stream. "That was…" His voice cracked. Embarrassed, he swallowed into a trembling silence.

Qui-Gon trailed his finger softly through red-gold hair. "That was, _is, _how amazing you are Obi-Wan. And there're countless more stories to be told."

Obi-One smiled. But, privately, he wasn't' sure he could handle them. They were remnants of his past, yes, and he sorely needed to know who he was. There was a puzzle that stretched across his blank mind. Each of this Qui-Gon man's tales were another piece…but it was like trying to assemble it without any idea how the picture was supposed to look. 

Was he smart? Was he fast?

Had he been happy?

Was the landscape of this mysterious puzzle a study in melancholy? 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Mmmm…"

Padme opened her eyes slowly, as if gradual pace would allow this nightmare time to dissipate. 

But the hot, pulsing hand on her side was very real. 

"I love you baby…" Anakin murmured into the nest of auburn curls, a tiny, dreamy smile playing across his lips. 

She sighed behind her closed mouth. _Again. _Despair tightened in her chest. _I did it again._

Fingers stroked her cheek, and Padme was supremely grateful her building tears had stayed a sparkle in disenchanted eyes. 

They were laying side by side, curves meeting, a thin cream sheet draped over their bare bodies. 

His arm locked around her, he lay his head in the hollow of her throat. "I want you to say it."

Padme turned a fraction, lashes touching to his skin. "Say what, Ani?" She asked quietly.

He littered kisses on her jaw line.

She uttered a small sound that might have been the result of pleasure. 

Anakin drew back, and the glow of day warmed his tanned face, though the dark hints remained. "Say that you love me, Padme. I've said it to you so many times.." He smiled at her. "I just want you to say it…" A spice-laden kiss to her chin, so close to the bloom of her lips. "Once."

Padme gazed at the man, drinking in his sandy hair and muscular body, trying not to remember…anything, save for this moment. This instance, chaste and simple and maybe beautiful. _He loves me. _

The thought stirred something in her heart, so that she laid her hand against the rapid beat of his, feeling his life against her. "I love you, Anakin." She said at last.

And, even for just this second, Padme meant it. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Mace entered the Gardens at a brisk, fluid pace, his deep brown robe whipping behind his strong body. His black eyes were pools of distress, skin was tinted in the rarest flush of crimson, though barely visible from beneath the mantles of smooth mahogany. 

It was difficult to concentrate. The Force swirled dangerously in his mind and in his veins. 

The calm had fled him all at once.

So the seemingly tranquil figure perched on an ancient bench actually caused an irritated clench of his thick hands. 

Master Yoda was not oblivious to the action. His thin, ivy-hued lips quirked. "Impressive, your shielding is not, today, Master Windu."

Mace quelled the strange urge to glare at the head Council Member. Instead, he sat heavily beside him, resting a body that was inexplicably exhausted. He regarded Yoda with a troubled gaze. "I received the transmission from Naboo."

"Hmmm." The small head nodded.

Taking a breath, he brought his hands to form a steeple. "Do you know?" He inquired huskily.

Yoda lifted sleepy citrus eyes to him. "Know on some level, all who have even have a whisper of a touch to the Force." He shut those self-same eyes briefly, overcome with the pain. "The wicked wheels…turn, they do.

"The Sith ."

Mace watched shadow descend on the withered green face and shivered. "What?" He gasped, forgetting to be shamed at his lack of knowledge. "You believe the Sith to be involved?" His voice was hushed, careful of those that may overhear.

A short, long-suffering huff. "Believe I must, in what I sense here." He placed a clawed hand to his chest. "The darkness, it eclipses the meager light which remains. 

"All that is good, all that is pure…

"Swallowed up into the maelstrom, it is."

Mace swallowed, taking a moment before he dare ask. "What will this do to Qui-Gon, Master?"

The alien gave an unexpected chuckle. "Like a flower, is that man's heart. The sun, Kenobi's light is. If shade himself, Qui-Gon must, then he cannot prevent the wilt."

"And Skywalker."

But Yoda had no response to that.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon cupped the back of the soft head, whispering endearments, trying to calm the restless worry in him. 

Obi-One rested his cheek in the curve where the stalwart neck met broad shoulder. His body felt frailmore so as he lay cradled by the massive man. "I-I'm sorry, I sh-shouldn't l-l-lose control. I'm not an in-infant."

"You're always so hard on yourself." The Master said, rubbing small, soothing circles into the tense muscles of his back. 

Obi-One reached up to trace the dignified face again, trying to memorize the layout as it touched his fingertips. He moved from the lined forehead to brow, eyes to nose…

He heard a barely audible hiss when his hand came to that feature. He lifted his fingers. "D-Did I hurt you?" 

Qui-Gon smiled, stroking the rounded lines of the other's face. "No. No." He fought the image of his former apprentice's fist hurdling at him . "It's just a little bruising. And it was my fault."

Obi-One nodded, resuming his innocent probe, following the curve of thin lips, of slightly squared, bearded chin… "There's so much I don't know…" He blushed again unknowingly, feeling grievously repetitive. "I just…" He sighed against a new gloss of tears. "Did we have fun, Qui---Qui-Gon?"

"Oh.." He chuckled lightly. "Did we have fun?

"It would be terribly difficult not to, what with the prankster of the entire Jedi Temple under your wing."

Obi-One was close to grinning. "What?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

"WHERE is he, Qui-Gon?"

The Master was taken aback by the annoyed fury in Mace Windu's dark eyes. They walked beside the railing, glancing occasionally at the level below. "I have no idea, Master Windu." He regarded the Council Member calmly. "After all, Obi-Wan IS a teenage male. He values his privacy…

"And I'd probably rather not know what he's doing."

A thin black eyebrow raised. "Probably."

A few steps in less than companionable silence. 

Mace sighed in frustration. "You must be able to locate his approximate location through your mental connection, Qui-Gon. I'm starting to believe---"

"Believe what, Master Windu?" Qui-Gon wondered, stopping, crossing his arms over his muscular chest, imposing his considerable height just a bit. "Are you implying that I'm COVERING for my apprentice?"

The bare-headed man snorted. " Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"Obi-Wan is a wonderful apprentice and a well-behaved child. It grieves me to know you would suspect him of anything…sinister."

Mace laughed. "Hardly 'sinister', Qui-Gon. Just---Just not what conduct one would expect from a Jedi Padawan. Especially a Padawan with Obi-Wan's abilities."

"I assure you, my friend. My apprentice is about as innocent as you can find a boy these days."

A shriek sliced through the Temple. A rattling sound of glee and surprised fright.

A youthful voice…with the slightest hint of a cultured accent.

The Masters leaned over the steel bars in unison.

There was the subject of their conversation, sprinting across the huge room…

Qui-Gon could see, with squinted eyes, a long streak smeared on Obi-Wan's cheek.

Pink.

The same neon color drenching Adi Gallia's once-obsidian locks and dribbling down her tan forehead. Her tranquil bearing had been abandoned for a wild, vengeful look as she chased Qui-Gon's terrified apprentice.

Jedi scattered into little crowds to watch them. Initiates giggling behind chubby fingers. Masters doing the same, though a tad subdued.

Qui-Gon fought the persistent pull of a smirk. He watched the youth dash, graceful even in this silly hunt, trying to swallow his own laughter. 

Then Obi-Wan caught sight of his Master. "HEY YOU JERK!" He screamed. "YOU TOLD ME SHE WOULDN'T FIGURE IT OUT!!!!"

Mace wheeled around. "As you were saying, Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "If you'll recall, I never said he WAS innocent."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Gentle, harmonious laughter floated through the sterile hospital room.

Qui-Gon watched the young man flop onto an adjacent pillow, scarcely able to breathe through the giggles.

__

I think I could listen to him forever.

And be content.

Obi-One's cheeks were a bright pink shade. Tears, of sweet humor, fell, and both men welcomed them, grateful after the long rain of the Knight's sorrow.

"I c-can't believe I did…that!" He exclaimed, then sobered abruptly, his smile weakening. _How would I know what I'm like? _

Qui-Gon somehow sensed his sadness, locking an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. "And that's downright tame compared to some of the pranks you pulled. What did they call them around the Temple?" His remembrance twinkled in midnight eyes. "Ah, yes. A 'Kenobi Classic'."

Obi-One gave a soft laugh. "I was terrible. Did that…" _Damn, I can't even think of her name, when he just finished the story. _"Did that woman ever catch me?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Not quite. You were a fast one. She followed you around the whole place, I swear. Weaving around spires, leaping off stairs…

"Unfortunately, you ran smack into Master Yoda. You knocked him right off his feet. He was so irritated he held you, with a little help from the Force, until Master Adi could get you."

Obi-One ignored the confusion rising in him. The Force was an intricate system, apparently. And he was too tired to figure any more of it out now. "What'd she do to me?"

A deep, rich rumble rose from Qui-Gon's chest. "Let's just say purple isn't your best hair color."

Obi-One laughed, but inside, he ached. _What does purple look like? _He sighed. _Or pink?_

"It's okay." The Master whispered, his voice a warm, cloying gust against Obi-One's ear. "I know it hurts."

The man rested his head. Pain needled his soul. _But you don't. How could anyone know? I've lost everything.…_

He held to Jinn tighter as he realized this was the single remnant of his past that he could touch upon…

And not feel the frost of indifference.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

They sat on the sofa, leaning against each other.

Padme sipped at her tea, the steam rising to billow around her nose, and she smiled, allowing the heat to fill her body.

Anakin took less dainty swallows of his drink. Something unfamiliar to the Senator, but almost certainly alcoholic, from the sour smell of it.

He licked the ruby red droplets from his lips before she noticed. "We have to do something, Padme. We can't leave things like this. "

She looked up, her moist mouth glistening…enticing. "What can we do, Ani?" She wondered in a hopeless monotone. The morning sun reflected in dark brown eyes. "We are bound by…our separate lives, our responsibility---"

The apprentice slammed their mugs aside haphazardly and took her arms in his hands. "Don't we have a responsibility to fate? Gods, Padme." He breathed. "We _love_ each other.

"How can we ignore that?"

She stared at him, seemingly unaffected by his passion, by the crackling desire in his ever-intense gaze. "I don't know." Padme admitted at last, slumping against the couch, out of his near embrace. She slipped her arms around her middle. "But we have to.

"And we will."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Jarqu stalked through the long corridor, ignoring the sneers and curses and some despicable cat calls. He stopped at the final cell, a giant hulk of man among the dust and saffron light flickering from faulty glow rods. 

"Nice to see ya, Berrel." He drawled, sarcasm dripping from his masculine voice. 

The prisoner raised his head, eyes peeking out from behind dirty tendrils of hair. "Go to hell." He rasped, and dropped his cheek to press against his hairy forearm.

Berrel was huddled in the corner, uncomfortable on the thin cot, back scraped by the rough wall. 

Jarqu didn't smirk, though he had the urge. Instead, he unlocked the barred door and entered, standing a short distance away. "Your insanity wore off then?"

A quiet, wet inhale. "She always made me crazy." He murmured.

Jarqu saw the grim gleam of tears in the man's unkempt beard. He shook his head. "You screwed her over." 

The observation cut Berrel; he visibly flinched at the pain. "I made mistakes…maybe." He glared at Jarqu. "But I NEVER wanted her to die for me."

The officer hid his satisfaction with Berrel's changed views. He nodded. "I know ya didn't. And yeah, you made some mistakes." Jarqu crouched down, they were roughly at the same level now.

"But you've got a chance here to right at least one of those wrongs."

Berrel didn't respond.

Jarqu took that to mean he was listening.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Mazella stepped into the room, hugging her clipboard loosely to her chest. 

Qui-Gon glanced up, saw the young physician, dressed in calming pastels, and smiled softly at her. "Hello." He said.

She moved to stand at the bedside. "Hello, Master Jinn."

Their voices were gentle whispers, so as not to wake the patient, pressed against Qui-Gon, exhaustion still heavy in him. 

Mazella pulled up a chair. "I've spent some time going over the specific circumstances of your friend's memory wipe. The type of instrument used, how long he endured the procedure…" She paused when she saw the pain flashing in the Jedi Master's eyes. 

Qui-Gon had looked away from her, leonine face stricken, a large hand stroking his past apprentice's hair. 

She laid a warm hand on his arm. Her face was framed by pale pink and gray locks, lending a tenderness already present in the understanding glint of her violet gaze. "I've handled many cases like this, sir. Each one is heartbreaking. 

"But if we're going to save his memories, if we're going to help him at all, we need to accept the harsher truths."

The aged man hesitated, fingers stopping in the ginger mane. Then he offered her a genuine smile…though it was bittersweet. "You're a very wise woman, Miss Gale."

She just laughed, an unsurprisingly buoyant harmony. "And you're a very dedicated friend, sir." Mazella activated the holopad in which she recorded information on Kenobi's situation. "Now, the official police report says…"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

__

Black.

Everywhere. 

And cold.

Frost chapping his cheeks, a chilled sweat beading on his skin. 

He tried to run, but phantom arms captured him in their grasp. Willowy fingers wrapped around him. He felt the bones poke against his soft flesh and cried out, a shiver running strong through his weakened body. 

"Help!" He screamed with every shred of power he possessed.

But it came out a meager croak.

Withered pads of the fingers pressed to his forehead. He struggled against this…creature, kicking out, throwing his fists, hoping to collide with a face, tears streaming freely.

Lips touched to his eyelids. He was paralyzed by the creature's hold, entranced by the sheer malevolent energy.

He went limp, and was carried further into the dark void, a voice scraping against his ear.

"You're finally mine, my apprentice."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-One screamed.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"How?!" Anakin asked incredulously. "How can we deny ourselves of this?"

Padme wanted to leap from her seat and pace the floor, be farther from him, so that his natural heat wouldn't blaze this near to her skin…but she was deeply tired, too wearied to even rise. "Of what Ani? This physical relationship?"

He captured her hands. "It's more than that. You know it."

"From the moment you landed on Naboo, all you've cared about is coercing me into kissing you, luring me into your arms---"

Anakin's grip was suddenly tensed. "Wait a damn minute." He ground out. "I never forced you into anything. If you truly didn't want this, you only had to say so." He looked away. "I would never hurt you, Padme."

Cool tears coursed from her eyes. She felt light-headed. "I know." Padme said quietly. "I-I've.." She wiped at her damp face. "I've overreacted.

"Everything that's happened between us was mutual."

Anakin nodded, sullen. "DID you want it?" He asked.

She stroked the smooth, hairless curve around his ear. "Yes." Her gaze flickered to the ground. "I did."

He finally returned his focus to her face. "Do you now?"

Padme was motionless. He could see the battle raging inside her. He saw the woman he loved hesitate.

"Yes, Ani." She replied.

Anakin moved to kiss her, then thought better of it. He took her hand again, relief and pain misted in his eyes. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon held the thrashing form taut in his arms, stilling his head with a gently pressed palm. 

Mazella was calling for nurses and retrieving a hypospray simultaneously. Her purple-stained eyes were wide with concern. 

Kenobi fought the constraining touch. Tears rolled down his cheeks, wild fear trembling in his limbs and lips. "Nooooo!" He shrieked raggedly.

Without their mental connection, Qui-Gon could only guess the young man was still caught up in his hellish dream, further distressed by the hands pulling at him, darkness a smothering void. His heart began to ache fiercely. "Obi-Wan!" He coaxed in a calmed tone, mildly urging him to wake.

The body continued to twitch and kick.

"Obi-Wan…" He persisted.

"No…" Came the bleary, lost reply.

Qui-Gon gazed down at the alarmed face, the suffering stretched in frantic lines where it was once smooth. Hair fell on the closed eyelids. The edges gleamed gold, and the Master leaned down to brush placating kisses there.

When his mouth met waxen skin, Obi-One yelled louder, arms flailing.

Staff dressed in unrelieved whites and creams stood behind Mazella, waiting for her to give an order.

The woman, suddenly projecting the guileless light of a girl, a frightened girl, held up a hand.

"Wait." She said, sounding dazed. She watched as the Jedi laid his fingertips on her patient's temples. Concentration was evident in his narrowed eyes, the teeth clamping on the inside of his mouth. 

A moment later, Obi-One relaxed, boneless. 

There were murmurs floating up at her back. Mazella didn't hear them. She stared openly at the pair, focus traveling from the sleeping Kenobi to his friend.

"This is wonderful." She remarked to herself, and hurried to document the incident in her notes. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Jarqu coughed into his hand, then spoke. "I've been talking to some people. Judges, lawyers, other officers. I'm getting really irritated about this Lorb moron."

Berrel just looked at him, brow seemingly heavy, nearly touching to the top of his eyes. 

__

Keep it sweet. He could go along with it. "And I KNOW you were in constant contact with the parasite." He studied the other man keenly. "Weren't ya?"

Berrel shrugged. "An acquaintance, I guess."

"Yeah." Jarqu gave a barking laugh. "Do me a favor, guy. Cut the shit."

The prisoner took a nonchalant scoot backward. "Yeah, fine. I knew 'im."

"Alright. So you know where he lives then?"

Another shrug.

Jarqu felt his jaw tremble. Heat flamed inside. "You better start cooperating, you useless piece of---" He stopped, swallowing. His voice was quieter. "I'm trying to help you here."

There was a spark of hope in the grizzled face, but doubt in the dark eyes. "Help me?"

The officer moved to sit on the cot. "Yeah. I need to get Lorb off the streets bad. From all he's done, he's a danger to Naboo."

Berrel wiped his nose as his mind worked. "So how will getting' him help me?"

"Thought you were supposd'a be clever." Jarqu remarked with a roll of his eyes. "You tell us where he's at, where we can find him, and there could be a reduction to your jail time."

Now Berrel was the one finding humor in the conversation. "What, only two life sentences?"

"Ah, you know it's not gonna be that much." _Should be, you disgusting---_ "But should Lorb get off while you're rotting behind bars?"

Berrel blinked, grim realization overcoming him. "Hey…You're right. That loser's gonna get away with everything, and I gotta…." His teeth grit. He looked over at Jarq. "Deal."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

When things were settled, and the last nurse had reluctantly left the Jedi's room, Qui-Gon glanced at the alien physician, who was typing furiously.

"Doctor?"

Mazella threw her head up and smiled with gentleness. "Master Jedi, I think I have good news."

Qui-Gon's initial reaction was to bound to her, grasp her by her willowy arms and demand to know how his former Padawan could be helped. The hours of uncertainty were grinding his heart to dust; he was choking on the agony. So many terrible questions loomed. What could this slight girl have discovered from Obi-Wan's frightened outburst?

A split second later he regretted the rash thoughts, remaining in his seat. _There is no passion…_ "What is it?"

The yellow light from the miniature screen cast a strange glow on her small face. "How did you calm Patient Kenobi so that he was able to return to sleep after such a violent episode?" She looked at him intently.

"I used a Force suggestion. It's a very mild push towards rest. It can be employed by the Jedi to use on basically any lifeform."

Mazella's shoulder's slumped slightly. "So you don't need any special connection with the person?" She asked.

Qui-Gon shook his head, then paused. "But I _did_ have a close bond with Obi-Wan. When I was his teacher, we were able to exchange words and emotion through the Force, through our minds."

She nodded, bright eyes reflective and keenly narrowed. "You had familiarity with his mind, then?"

"I was very much familiar with it, yes." His heart fluttered with tense hope.

"Would you still be able to enter his mind, in the current state it's in?" Her thin hands clenched and unclenched anxiously.

Qui-Gon blinked. 'I--I never entertained the notion---I mean I assumed it wouldn't--" He swallowed, turning to the slumbering form huddled on the bed. He watched the subtle inhales and exhales, the way a strand of ginger lay tracing the outline of a smooth cheek. He reached out to touch, his heart swelled with love. "It could work." The Master murmured.

His coarse, large fingers actually trembled.

He looked up at Mazella. "It could work."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Nearly an hour passed, with Qui-Gon preparing himself through meditation and the young doctor setting up an i.v. station in case he delved too deeply to emerge quickly. 

Mazella's hands were uncharacteristically cold when she laid them on the Master's broad shoulders. Her full lips quivered in rhythm with her excited heart. "Has this ever been attempted by Jedi in the past?"

Qui-Gon swallowed. Hard. "Perhaps, but if so, it's not widely known in the Order. Jedi have withstood the wiping machines. Obi-Wan did…once before." His voice had grown quiet and husky. "But the second time…he wasn't able to fight…He was.." Qui-Gon sighed, wiping the budding tears from his eyes. _Damn. I'm a grown man. _"Helpless."

Mazella nodded, moving to press silver disks to her patient's cool forehead, then attached them to thin, black cords that led to a monitor. The peculiar instruments clung to the Knight's flesh, and Qui-Gon was instantly concerned.

Mazella sensed the worry lancing through the man's heart and eyes. "These will track his brain activity. If I find your entrance into his mind has caused him too much distress, to the point of any danger whatsoever, I will be forced to halt the process."

Qui-Gon almost smiled. "How do you plan to accomplish that?"

She shrugged. "General stimulants. Used on you, to rouse you from the trance state."

"That may not work." He informed her. "If I WAS to sink too far into his psyche, general stimulants would be useless. You could slap me until my face was permanently red, and it might not make a bit of difference. "

The physician huffed, favoring him with a tired, kind smile. "You Jedi have to make _everything_ difficult, don't ya?" She half-joked.

She sounded quite young then, and Qui-Gon forced himself to remain trusting in her abilities. He _did_ have faith in Mazella Gale. And that was an emotion he rarely gave so soon. "It's in the job description." He quipped dryly, then chuckled to himself, overcome with bittersweet memory. _Something Obi-Wan would say._

Mazella laughed, adjusting the dials and recording the primary readout of Kenobi's brain function. She studied it for a moment. "Everything looks relatively normal. The patterns are usual for sleep." The woman handed him the sheet of sharply high lines, dipping to form a roughly straight line, then rising to create a series of jags.

Qui-Gon looked up at her, something akin to contentment, or at least satisfaction, in his eyes. "He's dreaming?"

She nodded. _Let's pray they're pleasant dreams. _"It's best to start before he enters the more crucial hours of rest, when it is far more arduous to wake him."

Qui-Gon gazed at Obi-Wan, fingers brushing across his head. 

He felt ice on his own brow, and saw Mazella was attaching the little probes to him as well. 

Fear collected in his chest, tingling. _Oh Force, let this work…_ He gripped Obi-Wan's limp hand. _It has to work.._

For him.

He CAN'T be lost.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

He had a body once. Of course he had, he could remember well enough. He had piercing blue eyes and long legs, graying hair that fell over his shoulder blades…

But here, he was only mind, detached from that mortal shell. He was of the Force, submerged in its beauty, the awesome wonder that was contained in this foreign, but oh so intimate, soul. 

Qui-Gon took a moment to despair, again, as he realized the violent detachment of their once-connected auras. Now it was as if the Force, their own unique sharing of it, had been ripped, and the gaping black had swallowed his Obi-Wan.

Perhaps, if he called to him, instinct would overtake the fear and loss of recognition. 

Maybe, at the core of this sweet, tortured man, he was preserved.

So, as he had done countless times, whether in the midst of blood-soaked battle, a stale conference or troubled sleep, Qui-Gon reached out mentally to him. 

It could not really be expressed in words, for this level of existence was above them, emotion ruling where not a mouth opened, when voices were useless.

The resting Kenobi couldn't deflect the ethereal message. It was instantly absorbed, traveling the darkened paths of a once-bright mind.

Qui-Gon fervently hoped he could light, even dimly, that precious place, so that Obi-Wan could see the thousand yesterdays stolen from him.

It was the barest of communication, but somehow, the most intense and heightened form. He could truly sense the other, and it was a tiny relief that he could.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan reacted with alarm, stirred from his deep slumber.

Qui-Gon sent a soothing pulse laced with his natural signature, so that the young spirit could identify him. 

The adopted blandness of Obi-Wan's mind wasn't as prevalent here, at this soft, basic plane, and gentle streams of his lovely heart were intermixed with his fright and grogginess. 

Joy erupted within the Force at this small victory, as it did within Jinn. Obi-Wan could have pulled himself from here at once, tumble them both out, as he had done on the transport to Naboo--

A lifetime ago, it felt.

Then, there had been pain and resentment. Now, the pain remained, though twisted to something far different…but Obi-Wan trusted him.

And, in that knowledge, Qui-Gon Jinn found hope.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

For maybe the first time since meeting her in Watto's cramped junkyard, Anakin didn't have much of an urge to pull Padme to him, and just ravish her with kisses.

His eyes fell to her mouth, barely parted lips moist and ruby. _Well…_ But the biological churning inside was suddenly overwhelmed by the delay of her response. She _had_ said she loved him.

And that was what he wanted to hear, after all. Who in their right mind would see such a flawless goddess, then despair that she had spared a heartbeat before admitting her affections?

Padme loved him. 

She was looking at him now, eyelids concealing a portion of glistening chestnut, a melancholy half-smile on her face. 

He knew already that he did want to touch her again.

He also knew that she didn't want him to.

A sigh ripped from Anakin, heavy and something near desolate. "Padme, I…"

His words drifted away in the maelstrom of his heart, set to spinning by the lovely spirals of her hair, the curl of thick lashes. Padme Amidala was indeed perfect.

Didn't the Chosen One deserve the best?

__

Master wouldn't appreciate such thoughts. He acknowledged faintly. Then…

The presence of his mentor, always there in some form, was barely a flicker.

He couldn't sense if Qui-Gon was in danger, or just shielding incredibly well but…

__

Why would he need to shield like this from ME?

Anakin's heart leapt into his throat. He stared at Padme, wide-eyed. "We have to go to my Master. Right now."

Fear rose in her gaze. "Why? What is it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. But I can't…I can't feel him, Padme. There's something wrong."

She put a thin hand to his cheek. "Okay." The Senator soothed calmly. "Let's go."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**


	9. Love is Something

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Nine: Love is Something

How can I go forward

When I don't know which way I'm facing?

How can I go forward 

When I don't know which way to turn?

How can I go forward

Into something I'm not sure of?

Oh, no. Oh, no. 

How can I give love when I don't know

What it is I'm giving?

How can I give love when I just don't know 

how to give?

How can I give love when love is something

I ain't never had? -John Lennon 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

He felt the movements within his mind, and though the foreign shifting left him wanting to shudder---he didn't. Or couldn't.

Instead he waited, letting the strange sensations touch him…and they were like silk, raw and comforting…but still cold.

He withdrew from the chill, seeking the warmth he had found in oblivion. Yet that place was now elusive to him, closed and shackled shut.

He would have cried out in frustration, but he had no voice here

Not that he was particularly familiar with that dulcet inflection yet. 

Then there was another presence besides his own. 

Obi-One heard something akin to words spoken, they spilled from the other's aura and twined around him as velvet would…This was not conventional language. Not even a true, distinguishable tongue. 

It was simply the exchange of bare affection.

And it was beautiful.

…_who?…_

He couldn't really see, despite the heightened loveliness of this space, but he perceived a smile from his companion. 

__

Me

And he wasn't quite sure how he knew it was the man named Qui-Gon.

He just knew.

__

How…are…you…here?

A stroke across his thoughts. _I've always been here…with you…even when you couldn't feel me…_ And it was here that a tiny tingle of darkness invaded the soft message _…even when you didn't want to feel me._

I don't…understand.

Mild caresses were instantly soothing him, chasing away the faint panic of being contacted this intimately. 

__

You will…if you're not afraid.

Oh…I…don't…I 'm…I'm not… afraid.

Qui-Gon gave a great rush of a sigh. _Because you can sense it around you._

Sense…what? Obi-One sorely wished he could see the man's face, to know with his eyes the kindness he felt in his heart. 

__

The Force, my child.

Oh… His mind whispered, becoming weak and helplessly weary. _I want to know…so…much…but I…I..mmm tired and I can't …remember…_

You can, Obi-Wan. Your past and our shared past isn't gone….I have it with me and you have it inside…we only have to overcome the barriers placed around them.

Tears soaked his consciousness. _I can…find..them?_

He was nearly pleading. 

__

Yes…I believe we can. Because you are strong, Obi-Wan Kenobi. And I will be here to help you.

You…help?

Qui-Gon smiled. _Always._

The response was timid, but was still there. _O-O…Okay._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme walked briskly at Anakin's side, stealing glances up at his stormy face as often as she could. He started to rush down the street when she was finally forced to stop him. 

"Ani!"

He wheeled around, panic dawning in his dark blue eyes. 

She tried to smile reassuringly. "Don't you remember? I have a few transport vehicles at my disposal. Or would you rather run to the hospital?"

He breathed out, a relieved grin following. 

She took his large hand in hers and led him to the front desk.

Anakin felt the warmth and delicacy, mixed with strength, in her grip. As the clerk summoned Padme's driver, he pressed kisses on the crown of her head.

Padme drew that soft head back, staring up with glimmering brown eyes. "We're getting sloppy." She said quietly, lips turning upward. 

He refrained from placing his mouth over that sweet smile, for the clerk had already returned, a uniformed man in tow.

"I guess we just can't help ourselves." He said slyly, near her ear.

Padme muffled a giggle behind her hand, resuming her almost regal posture when she walked to the sleek cloud car. 

The pair slid into the back seat. 

"Theed Hospital please, Dane."

The engine revved to life and they were zooming down the clean Naboo streets at a pleasant speed.

Padme turned to Anakin, laying her hand over his trembling fingers. "He's alright, Ani. There could be a million reasons why you can't feel him right now."

Anakin shook his head. Hurt radiated in his gaze. "No. He's always opened to me, even when we're at odds with each other. Qui-Gon _wouldn't _do this. There has to be…" An abrupt sickness roiled cold in his belly…And he knew why there was an emptiness in his mind, why the darkness was descending more rapidly where his Master's spirit had combat it before. "A reason." He finished dimly.

Padme patted his arm before studying the blurred scenery.

His hands raked on his knees. _I knew it._

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The softness of Qui-Gon's spirit encompassed him, lifting him when he felt both heavy and dizzy from the impact of all that had happened. 

__

…why?… He managed to wonder, bewilderment misting his weary thoughts. 

__

Because you have been precious to me, Obi-Wan. To everyone that has had the chance to know you.

That ache returned to his heart, to hear of the person he had been, and the yesterdays torn from him. But, at the same time, he smiled. It was a comfort to know that this man still cared for him. _…what…can bring…me…back?_

We must go deep…far inside until we find what has been hidden away.

And you…stay…with…with me?

A smile. _Yes._

They began to search, entwined through the Force, as it had always been, in the bygone days of their friendship. 

Qui-Gon knew it was fate that they were together. 

Despite everything, Obi-One felt that it was right.

And the Force seemed to sing its own confirmation.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin put his hands to his head. 

"Nooo…" He drew out slowly, teeth gritting.

Padme's eyes were wide. "Ani, what is it? What do you hear?"

The car came to a stop at the hospital entrance, and the Padawan bolted through the doors, thin braid whipping behind him. 

He stopped at the desk. "Where is Obi-Wan Kenobi's room?"

His voice brooked no argument, harsh and breathless. The volunteer girl hastened to check the long list. "Second floor, number 72."

And he was gone in a blur, leaving behind an open-mouthed youth.

Padme trotted in right after. Her mouth was pale from where the light lipstick was smeared from kisses, her usually stunning auburn hair in disarray.

The girl swallowed hard. "Senator Amid---"

"Where did he go?" She asked.

The baffled attendant told her, then watched as the famous politician ran down the hall.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon led him along with soothing reassurance, his presence cradling and safe…

But then there was darkness. Coiling like a serpent, icy and angry. It began to pull them apart.

Obi-One panicked. His grip on the other man's aura loosened while this new, unwanted pall swirled around them. _What….what iss…what is that?_

No, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon coaxed calmly. _Stay with me. We'll get beyond that…_ In his own mind, however, he was worried. The walls around the Knight's memories shouldn't be mobile, shouldn't shift and threaten and spread…

Obi-One felt that darkness inside him, hateful, sour like bile…

And he cried out.

And he broke away.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Mazella ran to her patient's side. He was whimpering and twisting in Qui-Gon's arms, sweat and tears rolling down his face.

"Obi-Wan!" She gasped. The doctor brought her slim, yellow-tinted hands to his temples to still him. 

Anakin burst into the small room , eyes ablaze and narrowed. "Master!"  
  
Mazella flipped her head to look at the wild entrance. Her face was flushed. "What---"

A sweep of his hand sent her flying into the wall. Anakin stalked forward and ripped Kenobi from his Master's arms. The pale figure was dropped on the slick, cold tile floor.

He grasped Qui-Gon's shoulders and shook him. "Master! Master!"

Padme stood in the doorway, palm over her mouth. She sank to the ground beside Obi-Wan . "Anakin! What are you doing?!"

The boy's face was dark as he stared down at Qui-Gon. The hate and jealousy burning for Kenobi was sizzling in his fingertips. "MASTER!" 

Qui-Gon's head lolled back. His eyelids pulsed. 

Anakin was lost somewhere between rage and worry, anger and fear; his hand was moving to slap the bearded, slack face…

When Mazella recovered from the shock of smashing into the steel, and stalked quickly forward, pulling a syringe of sedative from a layer of clothing…

Before he could make contact with the perspiring skin, Anakin felt the stab in the small of his back. 

He crumpled to the floor, where Padme was sitting with Obi-Wan's head cradled in her arms. 

Mazella touched her sore scalp gingerly. She was panting, more from surprise than exertion. The doctor went to Qui-Gon's side and hurriedly scanned the readout. "He seems to be alright." She breathed out, palm going to her chest. "Thank the gods. They're both mostly unaffected."

Padme moved her gaze from the unconscious Knight to Padawan. Tears were itching in the back of her eyes. "Ani." She murmured.

Mazella turned to the Senator. "What---was that?"

Padme blinked. She inhaled slowly, studying Anakin's lax features. "I…" She shook her head. "I don't know."

Mazella stared down at the mess a moment, hearing the desolation and confusion, somehow feeling the maelstrom. "I'm going to call the orderly." She said.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon opened an eye, carefully, pain beating in his skull.

The lights were dim, creating the illusion of dusk in the windowless hospital room, though the unnatural saffron incandescence was still ugly and hot. There was the rustle of curtains and measured mechanical beeps in the background. 

He sat up on his elbows, blinking. Across the quarters he saw another bed and rose to see if Obi-Wan had been harmed by the abrupt breach in their connection. 

His steps were deliberately slow, feet touching softly on the tile floor. 

When that strange darkness invaded the bound minds, Qui-Gon had been unsure of its source…And he still didn't know what malevolent force was behind it. He had faced uncertainty before, of course, but when it involved the safety of someone he loved, he couldn't tolerate it. 

He would find out what--or who---had led to the severing of their rediscovered link.

The Master stood at Obi-Wan's bedside, looking down at the troubled visage, a frown surfacing on his own. The round, silver probes were still attached to the young forehead, and the thin tubes cast identical, dark shadows in a criss-crossing design.

Qui-Gon lifted his hand to stroke the combed-back hair. He wondered how much trust had been destroyed between them. 

And when Obi-Wan woke, if he would even talk to him. 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes against a sudden onslaught of helplessness. "Oh Force." He pressed his fist between his brows. He felt the childish urge to thrust the blame on someone, to have something to curse for their suffering, for Obi-Wan's startled withdrawal. 

But phantoms were difficult to punish.

He laid his palm against the narrow chest. A calm heartbeat met his touch and Qui-Gon seceded.

"Rest, my Obi-Wan." He urged. The Knight's eyes peeked out from under smudged lids, and Qui-Gon glimpsed vibrant cerulean striped with emerald. He swallowed. "I could sense you there, through all the damned walls and murkiness…I know you're there, waiting for me to bring you back." He ran his fingers along a pallid cheek. "This---upset---won't stop me from helping you."

Obi-Wan moaned, pulling away in his sleep.

Qui-Gon took a step backward. "I'm just going to speak with the doctor." He watched the other Jedi begin to writhe in the sheets. He shuddered. "I won't be long."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The graying Master entered the sterile hallway and immediately sensed his apprentice. The boy's Force presence was always distinct, a massive, burning flame that could engulf a mind if it were weak and untrained, not sufficiently prepared for the rush of sheer, raw energy Anakin wielded. But his signature was dampened beneath his usual stellar shields and…drugs?

Qui-Gon walked faster, striding into the room a few doors down from the still, quiet one he shared with Obi-Wan.

Anakin was tucked into a narrow hospital bed, Senator Amidala seated in a chair nearby, her hands folded and eyes trained on the sleeping youth.

"What's going on here?" Qui-Gon asked, not caring if his bold tone awakened his Padawan as he approached the sleepcouch.

Padme straightened. "I'm not sure, Master Jedi."

There was an absence of warmth in her sweet voice and Qui-Gon was forced to calm, to look at her instead of Anakin. "What do you mean you're not sure, Senator?" He questioned, not unkindly.

She sighed, wiping at her eyes, seemingly oblivious, or uncaring, of the now-smeared makeup streaking from just under her eyebrow to the side of her face. "Ani---Anakin said he couldn't feel you through your link and he was concerned for you. He didn't know why you would block him out."

Qui-Gon felt the heat start in his cheeks. _I've been shutting him away from me._ "It was necessary to block him in order to help Knight Kenobi…I should have told him."

Padme glanced at Anakin. "Yes, you should have." She agreed in a murmur. Then she gazed at him again. "He found you, and---stopped the doctor and he---he pulled Obi-Wan away from you."

Qui-Gon turned to face the wall, hands on his hips, as she continued.

"The doctor sedated him. She--She said Obi-Wan wasn't hurt."

__

Then she knows nothing. Qui-Gon sighed, standing above Anakin. The young man's face was peaceful, his lips pressed together and eyes moving beneath their coverings. He looked almost…innocent.

__

A mask. 

Qui-Gon stared down at him, unashamed of his assessment. Shadow hovered around his focused countenance.

Padme stood and headed for the door. "I'll go check on Obi-Wan." She muttered.

She wasn't sure the Master noticed her departure. His eyes were lowered, sharp with pain.

The Senator made it halfway to her friend's room before tears began cascading down her cheeks, drowning her mascara in a cloudy river.

It seemed many were learning of Anakin Skywalker, and the frailties shrouded in his heart.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stood with his arms hanging heavy, proud shoulders slumped. His heart was an aching pit in his chest. "Anakin." He said, solid, strong hand hovering above the boy's muscled arm.

Anakin only breathed sharply in.

He extended two fingers, as though he were confronted by boiling acid rather than his own apprentice. _This is Ani…I care about him…_ He touched the cool skin. "Anakin, wake up."

The Padawan jolted awake with a gasp. He looked around the room, cramped with unused machinery and smelling pungently medicinal. Then, clarity lifted the confused haze in his eyes. Anakin leaned back on his elbows. "Master?"

The name held a plethora of meanings and memories. It could be the title one addressed a strict superior with their head bowed in submission, or a word uttered around the smile of an awed and dedicated student…or, in those sweet, special cases, another way to say father.

But, Qui-Gon Jinn, Master for a generous amount of his life, was at a loss to understand just what the ancient moniker held for Anakin. He wanted to believe it was a sign of respect and friendly, maybe familial, devotion. Sometimes, he was almost certain it was tinged with affection. Others, it was begrudgingly mentioned, more from habit or duty than preference. 

How he yearned to know the truth.

Returning from his brief inner battle, he attempting to smile, but he found he didn't have the motivation. Instead he pulled up the chair Padme vacated. His bulky frame wasn't comforted by the small, plastic seating; he was accustomed to it. 

Letting a sigh pass through his lips, he spoke. "First of all, I need to apologize."

Anakin's eyes bore into him, intense but guarded. He nodded.

"Dr. Gale and I are trying to help O--Knight Kenobi reclaim his past. Berrel's wipe was quite---effective." A gruffness consumed his voice, ragged with unbridled hatred. "Dr. Gale thought that it would be wise to use the dormant bond between Knight Kenobi and me to communicate with him on a higher personal level."

Anakin had to swallow his objection, beckoning Qui-Gon to continue with a tight movement of his head. 

"To do so, I needed to block myself from other Force-users…" His eyes were shining with regret. "I should have warned you, Padawan."

Anakin felt the anger blistering white-hot in his veins. But, he had taught himself well in the masquerade of indifference. None of that fierce hostility appeared on his face. "Its alright, Master."

Qui-Gon stood, pacing the room with frustration needling the base of his neck. "No, it's not alright, Anakin. Not at all."

The rapid beating in his chest echoed in Anakin's ears. "Why?" 

A chuckle. "It was only a mild sedative. Surely it didn't affect you that badly."

Anakin swung his legs off the cot. "Master?"

Qui-Gon studied his worry visage and felt a stab of sorrow. "Ani," He started again, softer. "You must know what I'm talking about."

The eyes lowered. 

"I don't blame you for being perturbed with me. I _did_ shut off myself from you. I'm not the only one to have ever done so in this relationship, but nevertheless, I should have been more aware of your perspective during all this. You couldn't have known what was happening here." He laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "But that doesn't give you the right to barge in and just…destroy everything we were working at."

Anakin frowned. "But I---"

"You tell me what occurred. I want to hear it from you."

Anakin's jaw tensed. "When I realized you were gone from my mind, I was really worried, Master…Padme offered to take me to the hospital. I saw you with…Knight Kenobi and…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I Force-pushed Dr. Gale and yanked Kenobi away. But I was unconscious before I could see what was the matter with you."

The older man huffed and turned from his charge. "Why did you feel you needed to invoke violence upon…innocent people to ensure my safety?"

Anakin flinched at the blunt description of his actions. "I--I don't know…"

"You must know, Anakin." Qui-Gon argued. "Such behavior can't be instinctive. I refuse to accept that."

The apprentice clawed absently at the bed linens, cheeks going a deep shade of scarlet. "I saw you and I didn't…I didn't understand what was going on. All I knew was that I couldn't sense you and Dr. Gale and Kenobi were in the way."

Qui-Gon faced him, arms folded across his chest. "So you thought that attacking two defenseless people was completely justifiable." He countered sardonically.

"I didn't attack them!" Anakin balked. 

Qui-Gon stepped closer. "You gave Dr. Gale reason to sedate you and move you away from Knight Kenobi's room."

__

Say his name one more time and I'll… "She's just a girl and she was startled---"

"Just a girl?" Qui-Gon repeated, fuming. "She happens to be a woman in the top of her field. Would you refer to Senator Amidala in the same fashion?"

Anakin flushed darker. "I didn't mean it that way…I…That's not the point, Master. She didn't know who I was…"

"That's right. She didn't know who you were, Anakin. You could have been a deranged killer for all she knew. The correct manner of a Jedi Padawan, or any decent being, would have been to introduce yourself and ask for an explanation of my situation."

Anakin had nothing to debate there, and studied his booted feet.

"You frightened Knight Kenobi and he withdrew from the Force before we could accomplish anything. Now he's probably too wary to try again. And I have no idea if he'll even speak with me."

__

You're breaking my heart. "It's not as awful as all that, Master." He mumbled.

Qui-Gon was an inch from his face, outraged. His long hair dangled in his eyes. "Obi-Wan Kenobi's memory has been stolen. He has been robbed of his training, his experiences…his self. The most beautiful soul I have ever known is lost and blind and in turmoil…and his chance for salvation was taken." He pulled away from the shocked man and rubbed his rugged face wearily. "How do you think he can survive more heartache?"

Anakin looked at his Master glassily. _Most beautiful soul…Oh Force…_ Bitter moisture fell to burn his flesh, unbidden. "I…"

Qui-Gon was at his side, arms like unyielding iron around the mournful figure. "You have disappointed me." He said into the sandy hair. "You reacted rashly. You shamed your station as a Padawan today."

A sob broke free of the taut mouth. His vision was burly with tears.

Callused fingers stroked the tipped head. "And, worse, you have put into jeopardy the future of an incredibly gifted Jedi Knight."

Anakin gripped the thick back. _Stop…I can't stand it…He's NOTHING…_

"You have knowingly hurt someone very dear to my heart. And in doing this, you touched the side of darkness."

Anakin pressed his forehead against Qui-Gon's neck. "No…Master…"

Qui-Gon braced the wet, red face. His gaze was piercing and cold. "YES. I sensed it, my Padawan. In my mind, in the Force, in the way Obi-Wan ripped away from me. You have lied to me. Don't lie to yourself."

Anakin sniffled, his full lips quivering uncontrollably. "No…"

"Damn it, Anakin! You're not a child! Own up to your mistakes or be ruled by them!" He nearly shouted. 

"Alright…" The youth shuddered. "I…I felt the fringes of the Dark Side when I was…" He couldn't finish. He collapsed into gasping cries.

Qui-Gon placed a single kiss on the crown of his head. "You have admitted it. Now, I pray, we can move past it."

He stood and stalked from the room, leaving his Padawan to his self-made anguish.

And he couldn't forgive.

And he would never forget.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme leaned against the steel doorframe, a curly chestnut strand resting against her cheekbone, wet from the tears that slid from her red-washed eyes. 

Obi-Wan's face looked strained, his hands tangling tight in the sheets. His pallor was as bleached as the bed's dressings.

He was the same man who stormed forward into battle on Naboo so long ago, cerulean eyes intent, saber sparking an identical blue, body strong and compassion incredible.

The same lovely soul who sat at her side while she purged of her terrible, aged guilt, and wasn't afraid to admit his own faults.

This _was _the same man…but it was so difficult to believe it.

Padme hesitantly took the steps to stand at his side. The small, circular probes fastened to his crinkled forehead glinted silver in the half-light. The various monitors beeped softly, offering only an eerie break from the silence. 

She sniffed, smoothing the stray hairs behind her ear. "Obi-Wan." She whispered, and touched the cap of silky ginger.

Padme thought of him being flung from the security of Qui-Gon's arms and hitting the floor.

Anakin not taking the split second to glance back at him.

Weeping, she took one of the gentle, sallow hands in hers, and brushed her lips against it.

"I'm sorry." She rasped, her free hand going to her heaving chest. "I'm _so_ sorry." It moved down to her stomach, and it was then that the shadow crossed over her grim face.

She could feel some sort of energy inside her there, new…but it didn't belong to her.

"I love you, my friend." Padme swore. It fell from her lips far easier than when she told Anakin. It didn't feel as though she were giving away her spirit. It was a wonderful, comforting fact of her heart. "I will provide you anything you need to recover. Anything." She rubbed the side of his face. "You are one of the most precious friends I have. And I'm so, so sorry for what has happened."

Obi-Wan moaned.

She backed away, swallowing. _There's no excuse for what I've done. I don't deserve his friendship anymore._

Taking one last stricken look at the sleeping Knight, Padme walked from the room.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon saw her in the hallway and approached the Senator, features chiseled in a hard, sad expression. "Is he alright?"

She nodded, almost too ashamed to meet his eyes. "He's still asleep."

"Good." He sensed Anakin's remorse through their bond. He breathed out. "I apologize if I was sharp with you before. It's just---I'm very concerned for Obi-Wan."

"I understand." Padme smiled meekly. "I am, too. And for Ani."

There was a flicker in Qui-Gon's marginally serene exterior. "I'm finding that perhaps I have placed too much trust in my Padawan."

Padme's sculpted brow lowered. "You're very angry with him, aren't you?" She asked in a quiet voice.

Qui-Gon nodded, strong neck pivoting to catch a glimpse in his ex-apprentice's room. "Anakin is not behaving as a student of the Jedi Order should, milady. He employed his advanced skill to harm Dr. Gale and sheer violence to remove…to remove Obi-Wan from his path." He finished, hardly able to bring himself to repeat the confession. "He required something beyond the light of the Force to do so."

The young woman's eyes were wide and moist. "What? What do you mean?" Her hands had dropped to her sides, without her knowledge. 

"He drew from the Dark Side."

The words were bare and harsh and held the pain of perceived failure. She wanted to give him the solace that she herself desperately wished for---but nothing could relieve the shock. "Is he still your Padawan?"

Qui-Gon inhaled. "Yes. This was a grievous incident, and it will take time to heal from it, but I would never abandon my protégé. Anakin is remarkably gifted, Senator. If I were to relinquish my responsibilities to him, it would be a dangerous decision indeed."

"How so?"

Qui-Gon had to wonder if he would ever learn to keep his mouth shut. "That kind of power, left half-trained and resentful, would be an enormous threat to the galaxy."

Padme felt her stomach churn. "But you can't think that Ani would be capable…" Her message drifted away inexplicably. 

Qui-Gon touched her arm. "Anakin is a good person, milady. I have no doubt of that. He loves few, but that love is all-encompassing. He is also young. Impressionable." His tone grew more serious. "If he were to be led into the hands of someone…evil…"

"Stop." Padme shook her head. "I can't hear this."

"Because you love him." Qui-Gon said, without question. "I do also. But we cannot become delusional. Nobody is perfect. No one is above error." 

Padme looked at him a second longer, then walked on.

Qui-Gon stared after her and considered the strange waves she was emanating through the Force.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Master Jinn."

Mazella Gale was standing at the end of the corridor. Her bruised temple gleamed an ugly purple. 

He watched the doctor stride to him. "I'm sorry for what my Padawan has done, Miss Gale. He was…worried for me. I blocked him from my mind so that I could commune with Obi-Wan."

She quirked her lips in a semi-smile. "That has been gathered from Senator Amidala's explanation." She motioned at the opened door with her deep yellow hand. "Come, we can discuss further plans."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin rubbed at his eyes when he heard Padme's footsteps padding toward the room.

His tears had dried as soon as his Master left. The embarrassment had been genuine; he wasn't pleased that Qui-Gon had forced the truth from him. 

But he wasn't in a hurry to repent for his supposed 'sins'. He would have done it again if it meant separating Kenobi from Qui-Gon.

Maybe his other efforts had failed, his next would not.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon's hand rested on Obi-Wan's temple. Mazella stood at his broad shoulder and watched her patient whimper.

"He's been this way since…" He cleared his throat. "my apprentice's intrusion?"

"Yes. I had previously believed he wasn't affected. But now it's clear the episode has frightened him very badly."

Qui-Gon turned around. "He retreated from our connection. It will be…difficult to beckon him back to the depth we had reached."

Mazella nodded. "The good news is he is recovering well physically."

Qui-Gon glanced at the beloved face, oblivious in fitful sleep. The memory of the beautiful soul incased within caused him to smile even as tears spiked in the back of his eyes. "He has always been strong."

"And he will always be, Master Jinn. Of that I am certain. Some patients, when they are told of their great loss, can't move past it. They can't accept their current condition, and therefor cannot work to improve it."

He shook his head. "Obi-Wan must be shown that the darkness that repelled him doesn't have to touch him. Then, I sorely hope, he will put his faith in me again."

The young physician's violet eyes moved from the Master to his former apprentice. "There are technological means that can be of help. The process used in mind wiping has been research for a century. It has been deduced that, using some properties of what causes the wipe to be effective, sometimes the wipe can be reversed."

Qui-Gon's heart raced. Cold sweat broke onto his palms. "What?" 

She looked up at his excited countenance. "It is a risky procedure, as the shock to his system would be major. I've been studying the details of his situation, since not all cases are found to be eligible, and I'm very confident he could be responsive. "

She saw the open joy in him, and begrudged the warning she was obligated to attach. "There is no guarantee this will be successful. But, _if_ he benefits from it, his memory will return gradually. As you know, there is a sort of 'wall' placed around them. If the procedure works, that wall will begin to be broken down. 

" He may become confused by the recollections as they're slowly replaced in his consciousness. They may only be small, insignificant bits, or an enormous milestone in his life."

Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan's limp hand. "How long before he would remember…relationships? Would he recognize his former feelings toward people he knew?"

Mazella smiled amiably. "They would come back just as his other memories would. In time."

"I understand." He forced himself to gather a breath. "What were the risks you mentioned?"

"If the procedure is not performed with precision and patience, the patient could experience an overload. The wall would shatter without giving the patient a chance to register what has occurred. The mind would be overwhelmed, and could quite possibly shut itself down to stop the onslaught."

Qui-Gon's body tensed. "How often does this happen?"

"Rarely." She assured him. "But the possibility is there, and must be addressed. If he were to react as such, the trauma of the wall erupting, as well as the protective instinct of his mind, could leave him brain dead."

Qui-Gon's stomach lurched. _Oh force…no…_ His grip loosened from Obi-Wan. "Brain dead?"

Dr. Gale nodded. "I will be heading the operation, Master Jinn. In the past, I have performed few of these, but never has this transpired. And if Obi-Wan is as resilient as you say, then I'm sure we won't encounter this problem.

"As the closest thing to a guardian, you are responsible for the decision."

Qui-Gon swallowed the thickness rising in his throat. His vision was suddenly burly. 

Mazella squeezed his forearm. "When you have decided, contact me." She indicated the special call button beside Obi-Wan's bed. "Take as long as you need." She added softly.

Qui-Gon blinked. "Thank you, doctor." His comment was quiet and hoarse.

When the door slid closed, he slumped into a chair, lightheaded. 

Obi-Wan cried out once more in the midst of his slumber, but the Master was too dizzied to hear.

__

My decision.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Hi."

Padme stood at the door, petite frame engulfed in the free space around her. Her hands were clasped together near the swell of her chest. The sophisticated flair of her dark clothing had vanished, leaving behind a woman searing with her loveliness, but accusing with the liquid russet pools gleaming melancholy in her gaze, and carrying the tenderness of adolescence beneath it all. 

Anakin was entranced by her elegant perfection, while simultaneously worried by her reluctance to take the last few steps into the small room. 

He had been sitting on the cot when her tremulous, wonderful voice permeated the buzzing silence. And he stood and smoothed the wrinkles from his leathery tunic, needing to appear to her as flawless as she appeared to him. Especially in the face of what she witnessed him do. "Hi." He reciprocated, lip curling in an experimental smile.

She didn't quite smile back. "I'm glad you're awake." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I was worried."

He felt his belly flutter in that juvenile reaction to knowing he was thought affectionately of. 

It happened every time she uttered a word accompanied by a fleeting caress or buoyant laugh.

It reminded him, like a whisper warm and cloying in his ear, that she cared for him.

It reminded him of his importance.

Anakin _loved _to experience it. "I'm sorry." He told her, a little more morosely than his actual emotion. 

And her face softened. She stepped fully into the room. 

"Ani, why'd you do it?"

Anakin frowned. "Padme, I told you. I was concerned for my Master."

Padme sighed. "If that were the entire truth, why was your Master so upset?"

He pressed the two rows of his teeth together, until the twin bases of his jaw ached. "My Master has overblown this. You were there, Padme. You saw everything." He glared into the distance, as if it were Qui-Gon's leonine features staring back, instead of the bland white wall. "He was too busied with _Knight Kenobi_ to know what was going on. He's always on Kenobi's side…It doesn't matter if I was only trying to protect him.

"Master interprets it as some huge catastrophe, when all I was doing was looking out for his wellbeing."

Padme felt a stirring around and inwardly. Hot, irritated, foreign. She had never felt it before. "I think he understands you were concerned for him, Ani. That's not what he's upset about.

"It's because---"

"The way I went about it." He finished caustically. 

"Yeah." She confirmed, weaving her arms around her middle as if the space had grown cold. 

Anakin snorted. "How would he HAVE LIKED me to go about it? Stroll into the room and ASK NICELY why my Master's mind is shielded from mine and he's lying unconscious on a bed with tubes coming out his forehead?!"

"I think---"

"Am I just supposed to IGNORE what's going on?"

Padme's mouth fell to a line. "What do you think is going on, Ani?" She queried, undaunted somehow by the furious red shining in his face.

"Kenobi is what's going on, Padme. He's always been a damn shadow over my apprenticeship, ever since he walked, or should I say _stumbled_, out of Qui-Gon's life.

"If he was such a worthy Jedi, and such a key to the Order, and 'the most beautiful soul' Qui-Gon's known," He spat with bald, sharp contempt, "Then _why_ was Master so ready to throw him aside? Why would Master be so confident in _me_ that he would take me away from my mother and my home to take Kenobi's place?

"Was it just some short-lived infatuation with my abilities that's chased away every DAMN TIME Kenobi happens to walk by, or be in Master's line of sight, or's even _mentioned_?"

Padme had to sit down. The ire of Anakin's speech was causing a smolder within herself, a dark haze of flame slashed across her senses… She put a hand to her forehead, leaning against it. "Obi-Wan was Qui-Gon's student for many years, Anakin. The events that led up to their parting were…extreme and devastating. You have to understand that Qui-Gon isn't going to forget the child he raised."

Anakin stood, chest heaving, hands cemented to his hips. He was silent for a time, eyes narrowing and moistening.

"…But is he forgetting _me_?" He wondered, in a shaky, small tone. The boy inhaled, and Padme could hear the rattle of coming sorrow. "I-Is he forgetting the Padawan he's STILL pledged to?"

And then he was consumed by horrible, hitching cries.

Padme found she could stand, bounding the short distance to embrace the only man she had allowed through the most intimate wings of her heart. "No, Ani." She told him fiercely, rough with her sympathy. "_Never_." Her fingers traced along the soft curve of his mournful head. Their cheeks met, their tears melding. She forced him to look at her. 

"Qui-Gon loves you, Ani. I know it. And deep down, _you_ know it."

Anakin swallowed a sob, focusing on her twinkling, bright eyes.

"And I love you too." She smiled. "Anything that makes either of us doubt that, we can work through.

"Because I believe in you. I _know_ you are a good man, Anakin."

Padme Amidala pulled his chin forward, until their mouths were entwined, wet and pliant to the other's, as their hands moved and their arms followed, as his sadness and anger retreated…to wait, as it always had.

For the right moment.

__

This was not it. He grabbed fistfuls of her spirally locks, letting his hands disappear in the thick drape of silken hair. 

Padme could sense his love for her. It wrapped around her, authentic and powerful and so, so intense… 

__

Smothering…oh…around me…everywhere… 

Thoughts of Obi-Wan Kenobi's distressed face drifted away to the gray sea far into her mind… And Anakin Skywalker was all she needed, all she hoped to have…all she _would_ have…forever.

The Force swirled around the pair--but it was not a joyful shimmer that clung to their joined auras.

It was the knowledge of the future, bleak and destructive. And the sound of a trillion shrill, suffering screams. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon sat in the chair beside Obi-Wan's bed, large frame crammed between impossibly thin, silver armrests. 

Obi-Wan's unmeasured breaths sounded hollow and the towering Master was reminded of countless other vigils, in pristine medical facilities, where the floors gleamed so cleanly he could make out his own bedraggled reflection, or dank swamps, with a ceiling composed of deteriorating mesh cloth that sunk in the center, his wrist aching from swatting at invading insects who trespassed in greasy swarms.

Temple healers, specialists, old, decrepit doctors with crooked backs and rheumy eyes, stiff hands trembling as they reached toward the ill or injured youth…

Qui-Gon, always regarding them with a mixture of hope and hesitance. Did they comprehend the vivacious spirit of this boy? Would they work to conserve every last remnant of his radiance and strength as they labored, or were they mindless to his gifts, touch mechanical and mind on some emotionless auto-pilot?

He _had_ encountered the kind, and it was his ever-watchful eye that may have prevented mishap, for he refused to leave _his_ Obi-Wan to the tender mercies of a cold and unfeeling physician, his Obi-Wan who was helpless as he struggled inwardly…or lay beyond the realms of strength and lucidity, who waited for his mentor to guide him to the light once more.

And Qui-Gon would bring him back, even if on the verge of death himself…even during that barren winter of their friendship…when the quick-witted and loving boy was shoved away to the edge of Qui-Gon's heart…and it would take a stray blaster bolt, or potent chemical, or ruthless assailant to usher him near…even when Obi-Wan didn't know it…even when Qui-Gon wouldn't acknowledge it.

Qui-Gon smiled; giant, callused hands folded to absorb the abrupt, powerful fear that swept through his reminisces, finding they were tainted by the uncertainty of this moment…the thought that he could fail, that his choice was a falter…That Obi-Wan, with all the wounds inflicted over his short lifetime…would endure another.

This procedure could be a saving grace.

Or it could be the death of his Padawan.

__

Ex-Padawan! A voice in his head hurried to correct. He heard it---he just couldn't completely agree with it.

Because sometimes, when in the training arena with Anakin, the arrogance would drain from the child, and the brutal fight style would shift and change, and the conceit of those dark eyes would turn glitteringly luminous, and Qui-Gon would see Obi-Wan there, body and mind submerged in the rhythm of the kata, lost serenely in the majestic harmony of the Force, and the tired, aging man would feel his heavy soul lifted.

It were these days that he was strongly compelled to rush up the levels of the Temple, burst into Obi-Wan's lonely little apartment, and crash to his knees before his former apprentice, pleas for forgiveness falling from his mouth like a body being purged of venom.

But he would never do such a thing. No, Qui-Gon would stand where he always did, at a distance from Anakin, and monitor the boy's progress, and worry about the glimpses of snide egotism he would catch in that young, tan face, and lightly block his longings.

Anakin would sense the alter in his Master's Force presence, as Anakin sensed everything with that sharp attentiveness…

Did the boy _know_?

  
Is that what fueled his flying limbs when he crashed Obi-Wan into the ground?

Qui-Gon wasn't sure, couldn't be positive either way, but he shivered just the same, a low quake that wracked his bones.

__

Would Anakin interfere with the operation?

This was a different voice than earlier, inflection low and incredibly similar to his own…

But he _couldn't_ hold such suspicion toward Ani, could he? 

He had stood beside that child, from the time he was nothing but a sandy, smudged slave rushing along the hot Tatooine dunes. He had shared his home, his teachings, his _life_ with Anakin for this small while.

Ani had grown under his tutelage.

How could Qui-Gon have missed the signs of darkness? Of ruined purity?

__

I haven't…He's made a mistake…Oh Force it was just once…

"Once." He murmured aloud, and glanced at Obi-Wan's waxen face, at the drying stain of tears beneath his closed eyes. 

He heard the echoing remembrance of jealousy, thick in Anakin's words, so many times…

__

"Why does HE _have to come and ruin everything?"_

"What can HE do?"

" He'll screw things up---"

"So HE'S just gonna lay there while we work through the night?"

Anakin had been angered by Obi-Wan before today…he just didn't have the opportunity to act on it.

What would Anakin do if he informed of the risks involved in the procedure?

Would he…

Qui-Gon closed his eyes against the welling despair.

As he felt himself ripped in two.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

He floated up from the dense oblivion with its foggy burdens still holding tenuously to his sore mind, and it was too much to rise to full awareness so quickly.

Instead he rested in the soft balm between, thoughts gentle and fleeting if he attempted to focus more than loosely upon them. 

He began to sink down into the comfort of sleep again…

"Obi-Wan."

Someone was calling him…And he mused frivolously that the name was odd…hmm…unusual….hmmmph..

"Obi-Wan, wake up now."

He dragged himself up from the weary depths…passed the burly levels until he came to coherence.

The air was bitingly septic, he winced from the unwelcome stench.

A rough-hewn palm stroked over his forehead. He wanted to smile, but the touch carried an unknown sourness, and he frowned.

"Come now, Obi-Wan. We need to talk."

The tone was both mild and insistent, summoning him with a very subdued shake of his shoulder.

Obi-One took a breath and wet his lips. "Wh-Why…?"

Qui-Gon slid another pillow under him. The younger man slouched into it, russet lashes still against his cheeks. His skin glowed with cool perspiration. Brown hair with sun-kissed tips lay limp, soaked with the sweat of his spent body.

Obi-One tried to turn onto his side and slip from the harsher atmosphere he woke to…when he remembered.

Being led by puissant fingers and a rumbling voice, that originated from outside, but could be felt at his very core. 

His fears shushed and soothed by the steady presence of Qui-Gon.

The promise that the stifled memories would be freed…

And then the dark swallowing up the warmth, their connection fraying, as he pulled himself away, to protect himself from the intrusion.

Obi-One uttered a gasp, cringing at the horror's residue spreading black in his mind. 

Qui-Gon squeezed a lamed shoulder in support. "It's alright." He said, close to whispering. "Do you remember…anything that happened?"

He scratched at his wrist…needed to scratch it until it was raw. "I…" And he was surprised to hear the accent lacing his response, "I remember feeling safe…" He lifted his head to where he sensed, for some inexplicable reason, the man's face was. "And you. You were with me."

Qui-Gon smiled, trailing the line of shadow along the other's temple down to his jaw, which was covered in ruddy stubble. "Yes."

Obi-One's expression was dismal, bittersweet. "Yes. And I was happy, be---because you told me we would find…my past." The ending was hushed.

"We still can, Obi-Wan." The grayed Master vowed. "We were---interrupted, but that doesn't mean the method is closed off to us. We can try it again."

Obi-One nodded slowly, head turning to the side, his chin tensed and the cleft there dark. 

Qui-Gon's eyes remained on the troubled figure as he felt a visceral ache, a physical sadness. 

"I want to be able…to remember." Obi-One confided, a morose smile touching his mouth, a crinkle linking his brows. "I…I want to know what I am. _Who _I am."

Qui-Gon's blunt fingers sought to smooth the afflicted lines marring the handsome, guileless face. "I know."

Obi-One nodded, sucking his lips in between his teeth to bottle a sob. "I know y-you've tried t' tell me. I appreciate that _so much_…"

"You've been the center of my world, Obi-Wan. I would _never_ leave you to handle this on your own."

"I…want you to be happy. It's just…instinctive. I want to know why." He wiped at his eyes. "You're all I have, now, and I need to know why that is."

Qui-Gon paused in the deep, somber moment to laugh. "I was never all you had, Little One. You had friends everywhere you went. Even in the most strict environment, you could still charm your way into the hardest heart."

Obi-One sniffled, tears coursing without obstacle down his face. 

"But, I was the lucky one who had the privilege to witness all the miracles you caused, to see the children who gaped up at you, with wide little eyes, gaping up at their savior." He grinned. "I was given the treasure of teaching you…

"And you showed me that our roles were easily, often, reversed." Qui-Gon's voice was fond with the images that presented themselves; Obi-Wan taking the fragile bird from his Master's massive hands, huddling it against the lulling beat of his chest; Obi-Wan barreling down the shortcut when his counterpart would have stayed to the path.

"You are greatly loved, Obi-Wan. That can _never_ change."

A jerking cry escaped Obi-One, he pursed his lips firmly. 

Qui-Gon rubbed his thumb along the track of warm tears. He stared into that miserable, exquisite visage…and felt moisture collect on his own lashes. "I will stand beside you, no matter the consequence. And so many others will. You've no idea how dear you are." _Even before this awful thing, you didn't know. _"To me, to the Jedi…You will never be alone, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One scrubbed at his swollen, red eyes. "I love you." He rasped. "I…don't understand why. I just do. A-And, it's all I can be sure of."

"Oh, my child." Qui-Gon murmured, settling on the edge of the bed and laying his cheek against the smooth forehead. "I love you too."

The Knight brought a tentative hand to Qui-Gon's neck, breathing shallowly. "I…want to remember." He said again, drained and utterly depressed.

Qui-Gon listened to the weak, quivering words.

He sat up and looked intently at his former protégé. "There could be another way."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The explanation was nearly identical to that of Mazella's, save for the pauses during which Qui-Gon would reassure his friend with a pat or added words of comfort. When he was finished, he waited, the Force flowing through him in mysterious waves. He could not since the outcome of their talk; he could not even gauge the reaction.

Obi-One sat back, cheeks flushed and barren eyes damp. "I-It could work?"

Qui-Gon's hand lay atop the clammy palm and fingers. His face was grave, but kind. "It could."

Obi-One took a gradual inhale, then nodded. "But its…_brain surgery_?"

"Not exactly. There wouldn't be any…" He shifted on the mattress and cleared his throat. "Cutting. But yes, it would deal with the brain."

"Oh." A pale hand carded through his hair nervously.

"I know it sounds…harrowing…"

"Terrifying." Obi-One said softly.

Qui-Gon sighed. The young man had always been reluctant to share his insecurities, or even doubts, for fear he would be shunned by revealed weaknesses. It was only when he sensed intense danger would he speak to his critical Master.

__

"I have a bad feeling about this."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if enduring a painful storm throughout his body. "If I didn't believe there was a good chance of this succeeding, I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

"Dr. Gale is universe-renowned for her skills."

Obi-One mustered a smile. "I trust you, Qui-Gon." He was motionless, but that natural radiance beat in him, the edges of his form a fair gold.

Qui-Gon could read the unsure tingle in the response. "This is _your_ life, Obi-Wan. As much as you're a part of mine, this must ultimately be your judgement."

Obi-One bit at the inside flesh of his lip, spine rigid and naked toes clenched. He could feel the Master's eyes on him, though he had no way of knowing if it were more than an internal inkling. 

He couldn't describe the stream of emotion that so often flowed throughout his soul, delivering these foresights, trickling into every surface, making each rugged patch smooth, carrying the frenzy of his worries away in its cool waves.

It was a startling sensation…but a comforting one, like communing with an intimate companion. 

And, strangest of all, it reminded him of this caring man beside him.

If he could recover the years, have the precious days and hours returned to him, then surely he could recall why he sometimes predicted the words that would be released from another, why he was aware of footsteps when they were far away. 

__

Why I want Qui-Gon to stay near me.

Why I know he'll protect me from the darkness.

By the time fresh tears were awash in his eyes, Obi-Wan knew his answer.

"I'll…do it."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~


	10. Honesty

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

**__**

Chapter Ten: So Untrue

Honesty is such a lonely word

Everyone is so untrue

Honesty is hardly ever heard

And mostly what I need from you. -Billy J oel

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin entwined his fingers tightly, staring down at them, watching the flesh turn an angry shade of scarlet. 

The lavish hotel room was dead still. Heavy velvet drapes hung across the wide windows, smothering the midday light, leaving the atmosphere a shadow-laden gray. The stylish sofa was stiff beneath him; the various shows of decadence had grown tiresome in the long solitary hours.

Padme's scent, a delicate vanilla, had worn away from his hands and the air. He could imagine breathing it in, reminding him of her lovely flawlessness, but the counterfeit pleasure became more painful than anything else.

He drew back and rested his aching neck. 

She had lingered in the hospital as long as she could, swearing she would have stayed forever if possible, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek…and he would deepen it, the craving for her insatiable, the need for her support overwhelming.

Padme had smiled, lust and regret unhidden in her dark eyes, murmuring that she had duties to return to, that her life was dedicated to service of her homeland, that he had his own responsibilities to care for…and that she would think of him every moment.

Anakin was crestfallen, but at last released his hungry touch from her, and escorted Padme to her waiting transport.

He had felt peculiar beats in the Force as he walked alongside his lover, projecting from outside himself…but so intimate, he was convinced there were traces of his presence ingrained in them.

Stranded in this empty place, bereft of his Padme and Master, his lone company had been the unsettling musings that occasionally overtook his mind.

Swathed in murky layers, it was difficult to discern what they meant…but he certainly knew how they felt.

The wretched face of Kenobi, twisted in agony and fear.

Oh, that felt marvelous.

__

If only that were all. He crossed his arms behind his head. _I could DEFINITELY deal with that._ A feral grin spread over his mouth.

But the Force, for what else could be causing the visions, was never so kind to him.

Once Kenobi faded, his Master would appear, compassionate eyes reduced to infuriated slits, almost _snarling_ at an unseen enemy.

And then Padme was there, the horrid finale to the desolate collage, streaked with tears, blood dripping to her toes.

A voice shattered the silence within him after that: _"For him!"_

Ileana Zimn.

The slain woman's last, haunting words.

Anakin Skywalker had no doubt who she warned of. He had been wary, _hateful_, of the man since Qui-Gon relinquished his claim those ten years ago, to accept a worthy charge, one who could lead the Jedi down the path of glory…The Chosen One. 

This was the man who spoke vehemently of the supposed 'dangers' the former slave boy, and superior, posed.

It was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And he was a curse upon all their lives.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stood outside the ornate door of their assigned quarters, entrance card held halfway to the panel, eyes the color of a crashing ocean at midnight mirroring his inner conflict.

__

He won't understand.

The harsh thought pierced his collected, tranquil mind, and what he had strove diligently to still scattered like broken glass. He took a step back.

After Obi-Wan agreed to the procedure, Qui-Gon was temporarily blinded by his happiness and fierce hope, reporting to the Council of the development.

But as the night wore on, and the excitement faded, the Master realized that though a major hurdle was being crossed, there was another obstacle…_no, not an obstacle…my _apprentice_ is not an obstacle.._

Anakin was young and, as much as Qui-Gon didn't want to admit it, possessive. Once he was attached to a person, he gripped them with both hands…and his heart. His protective nature emerged strong and nearly invincible. He needed them to focus solely on him, to see nothing beyond his face, hear nothing beyond his voice.

The boy had never accepted that Obi-Wan had the right to a place in Qui-Gon's life. If Qui-Gon dare speak a word to the isolated Knight, Anakin's Force signature flooded with animosity and…envy. It didn't matter that Obi-Wan had no intention of replying, that he stalked away without muttering a syllable.

Qui-Gon had loved Obi-Wan for many years. The deepest affection the older man could achieve was kindled by that gentle, sweet soul. His fondness surpassed even that of a father for a son…in the remote existence of Jedi, they were all the other could rely on.

Surely he had that same relationship with Anakin. _Then why doesn't he believe that I can love him, while I continue to love Obi-Wan?_

He wasn't convinced that Anakin could fully control his resent toward Obi-Wan. He had attacked him when he was defenseless and blind and…

__

Force.

This shouldn't be so hard.

Inhaling, he entered the apartment.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin sensed his Master's arrival, standing and straightening his tunics.

"Good afternoon, Padawan." Qui-Gon greeted. He shed his robe, then paused, studying his apprentice's face. 

Anakin looked directly into the probing eyes. "Are we leaving?" He asked… and the longing was apparent.

Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest, gaze falling to the ground. "Not---Not yet. " _Well, not a total lie. _

The younger man sighed loudly and collapsed back on the sofa. "I don't see why." He grumbled. 

Qui-Gon rested in the stylized arm chair in front of the boy, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. "Ani, we need to talk about that." He swallowed thickly. "I--I spoke with Dr. Gale and Knight Kenobi. He'll be undergoing a procedure that could return him his memories."

Anakin's expression was unchanged. 

"This operation is very delicate. If there were any…complications, the results would be dire."

__

So? Anakin huffed. "And?"

Qui-Gon reached forward and squeezed a tight shoulder. He could forgive the impatience. "And I think for you to remain during the surgery and recovery would be pointless. You would be floundering here…"

Anakin exploded to his feet. "Master! I am a member of this mission team! Why should _I_ have to leave?!"

"I have explained---"

"No." Anakin shook his head, pitch dipping low. "You didn't explain. You just made an excuse."

Qui-Gon stood, pacific and undeterred. "I have no reason to create excuses, _Padawan._ If I decide your presence would be better suited elsewhere, then it is within my power to do so. You have every right to disagree…But it won't alter the outcome."

Anakin's fisted hands trembled. "This isn't fair. I DON'T want to leave!"

Qui-Gon rubbed the broken bridge of his nose. "Acting like a child during a tantrum is neither suitable for Jedi behavior, or helpful to your argument."

"Why do YOU need to stay?" The boy persisted, brow dark. "Kenobi isn't a child either."

"No," Qui-Gon replied, unruffled, "But he will be very vulnerable afterwards. His memories will be slowly released. Disorientation and confusion is expected. He'll need my support to get through it."

"And what of me, Master?" Anakin wondered, growing uncharacteristically quiet. "Do I not need your support?"

Qui-Gon breathed out and grasped his apprentice's hand for a brief moment. "I hope that you do."

Anakin blinked. He wasn't prepared to see the pure love in the man's eyes. Thoughts of his mother skirted past his mind, and he felt a constriction in his throat. "I do, Master." He said softly. "That's why I wish to stay here as long as you're required to."

A smile spread on the bearded face. He ghosted his fingers along Anakin's cheek. "I wish you could stay, Padawan. I wish this intervention was unnecessary.

"But I have to protect you…" _Both._

Anakin was motionless against the rare touch. A sharp kindness pulsed in Qui-Gon's azure eyes, he was very nearly entranced. "I don't need protecting, Master. There are no threats for me here." _None that you're aware of anyway. _"And the investigation isn't complete." He added hastily.

Qui-Gon's hand moved along the sandy slope of hair. "Our part in that is done. If any need for you surfaced, you would, of course, return."

Anakin pulled away with a rude sound. "This is _stupid_!"

The benevolence drained from Qui-Gon's eyes. "You may have your opinion. But I will not tolerate offense toward me, or my actions as _your_ Master."

Anakin was fuming, but silent.

"A transport is arriving in an hour. Pack. While you journey back to Coruscant, I suggest you draft your mission report." He walked away.

__

This isn't fair. The apprentice raged inside. _This isn't fair!_

Relieved of his duties, Anakin stormed to his room.

The small glass sculpture balanced on a sleek table suddenly, inexplicably, began to suffer thin fractures in its clear surface…a few minutes later, it was broken shards scattered on the floor.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Once the door to his private quarters sealed, Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes, wandering to the window.

The sun poured through as warm liquid brilliance on his face, but the prickling cold within his body couldn't be thawed, for the betrayed, stricken look Anakin gave him remained blazed into the forefront of his mind.

__

"Do I not need your support?"

Qui-Gon sighed, leaning his head into his hand. The lush landscape, inspiration for thousands of starry-eyed poets and lusting romantics, was a grim sight…

Because, despite the disharmony between he and his apprentice, the view was still a sterling mesh of color and nature, a living piece of heaven.

He could see the glitter of dew dripping from delicate, jade leaves; hear the song exalted by crisp chirping.

For Qui-Gon Jinn, Naboo was as glorious as it had ever been.

No longer the spanning, merciless countryside, where each vacant building could house his stolen Obi-Wan, and the possibility of a tomorrow without him weighed on Qui-Gon's thoughts as he gazed out this same window.

Now the palate was a gloss of vibrant hues, from a powdery blue sky to creamy violet. It quenched his soul with unsurpassed beauty.

It was unmarred by the clouds invading his bond with Anakin. 

__

Force, what is wrong with me? Qui-Gon screamed. He ripped away from the taunting picture and sank to the sleepcouch.

His bones throbbed and ached.

Pain split his head.

And, some horrible, wrong, inhumane part of him, embedded in his depths, a wraith nearly invisible to his mind's eye, _wanted_ Anakin to leave.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme wiped at her eye, chin cupped by her hand. Her neck felt stiff as she stared down at the jaundiced holo pad, radiating a sour light.

The comm unit buzzed at her elbow.

She spared a second to ponder why she had a faint inkling of the shrill, short sound before it came, then answered.

"Senator Amidala."

A heavy breath, then, "Padme?"

She shoved the glowing pad away and smiled. "Ani." She murmured. "I knew it was you."

"I'm going."

Padme frowned, sitting erect, hand grasping her clenched stomach. "What? You're going?…But your Master told me…"

"I didn't say _he _was going." Anakin spat. Bitterness streamed through the electronic connection. "_He's _staying right where he is."

She sighed and leaned back, tired. "Why?"

The apprentice snorted. "Why do you think? That brainless doctor thinks she can cure Kenobi, and _of course_ Master has to be right there beside him every damn minute."

Padme struggled to swallow. Her hand pressed lightly to her throat. "Well, Obi-Wan can't be left alone after major surgery, Ani."

"Maybe." He admitted tightly. "But then why should I have to return to Coruscant? I can be of use here."

"Why do you think he wants you to return?

A pregnant pause. "I don't know. He---He says he doesn't want me to get behind, that I'm just laying around here for no reason."

Padme shifted in her elegant leather chair. "Maybe he's right. You must have other duties to attend to at the Temple."

"Do you _want_ me to leave, Padme?"

She flattened a palm to her hand, feeling his tumult of emotion as keenly as if it were her own. "I love you, Anakin. I think of you so much sometimes I can barely concentrate. When I lay in bed…I wish you were beside me."

"Gods, I want to be there." He swore breathlessly. There was the wet noise of his lips clicking. "I just…don't give a damn about the Temple anymore. You've drowned out everything else in my life. I care about my Master, yes, but not as deeply as I do you, Padme."

Her eyes shone moistly. "Oh… I wish we could throw everything away. My responsibilities, your ties to the Jedi.

"But I've worked my entire life to reach this position. And you've given your life to the Order. I'll love you. I always will. It doesn't have to be the end. But you can't stay on Naboo when the Jedi need you. You're The One, Ani. Don't sacrifice that for me." She was quiet for a beat, contemplating.

"You can have me, and remain a Jedi."

"What're you saying, Padme?" He asked carefully.

"Marry me, Ani." She blurted. "Marry me before you go. That way we'll have each other, even when we're apart. I know the rules. I know you're forbidden. But you're special, Anakin. You're different.

"And no one has to know. " She whispered with a shaking smile.

"Padme." Anakin gasped. "Force, yes. _Gods, yes. _Let's do it."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

A soft knock at his door pulled Qui-Gon from his dark reverie. He walked to answer it, unable to erase the worried creases from his face. 

Anakin was standing before him. A slim pack was held in his hand. "I'm leaving now." He informed the older man solemnly.

Qui-Gon's rich midnight eyes were shaded. "Alright, Padawan." He touched an arm. "I…I was hard on you."

Anakin shrugged. "Nah. I'm sorry I was so cross with you."

__

Sounds like something Obi-Wan would say…accepting the blame, refusing my apologies. Warm filled him. "Perhaps we have been worn out. This mission was a trying one. When Knight Kenobi is cleared to come home, we'll spend some time catching up."

The boy couldn't look away from the genuine regret and affection, was aware of the conflict that always seemed to rise. His Master loved him….and Anakin couldn't hate him. _Never_. "I'd like that, Master."

Qui-Gon pulled him into an embrace. "I don't want you to drift from me, Anakin.I fear that you will."

Anakin brought his arms around the rangy form. "I won't."

Callused hands braced his tanned face. "I don't want you to be a stranger to me."

He was confused by the desperation etched into the noble visage. "I won't be. Why'd you say that?"

Qui-Gon backed away and shook his head. 

Anakin had never seen the man so purely sad. But he couldn't move forward to comfort him. So he stood where he was, a statue in the expensive room, separated even in this close proximity to his teacher. There were mere meters between them….but it could have been a raging ocean.

"Its nothing." Qui-Gon negated, beaming with his mouth closed, lines streaking from the corners of his eyes. "Contact me when you land."

Anakin's lip twitched. "Okay, Master."

And the miles of cold waters widened with each retreating step.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Palpatine threw a glance at Maul. "Can you feel it?"

A painted coal lip curled with a low growl. "Yes, my Master. Everything is---moving."

The pallid Sith Lord laughed. "Yes it is. Never so wonderfully and completely." Every word was chilling and perfectly enunciated. "Kenobi is at its core. With each hour, I feel him approaching."

"It can't be that much longer, can it?" Maul asked… dreading the answer.

"As long as the Force deems wise." His hooded eyes strayed from the tattooed protégé. "It only gives us more time to prepare.

"When the moment comes, you will bring him to me, my apprentice."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-One's fingers twined together, the friction of skin touching skin warmed the outside, but they remained bitterly cold within…and it wasn't a pleasant combination.

He sat rigid on the cot, though the supporting stack of pillows was behind him.

The rattle of some sort of air circulator buzzed in his ears, and he tried to focus on the mechanical reverberations, breathing calmly, and the sound of steady gusts blowing out the parted gate of his teeth absorbed his attention too. He wanted the distractions to swell in this room, so that he must thrust his worries away.

But eventually, the machine completed its conditioning cycle, and deadened with one last, loud groan.

He swallowed, heart clenching up at the quickening steps toward silence. Almost panicked, Obi-One tapped the smooth, metal border of the bed. 

Qui-Gon, the man who claimed to love him as any father would, and was steadfast at his side during this horrible, confusing ordeal, had left to speak with his apprentice.

He was alone. 

Obi-One thrummed the hard surface faster. 

From the moment he woke to this utter darkness, engulfing his mind and spreading over his eyes, there had been a single constant. 

__

Fear.

Trembling faintly in his limbs, sour tasting in his mouth. Stalking him in shadowed dreams.

__

I'm always afraid. Moisture stung his eyes, trailing cool down his cheek. _And I'm a burden. To Qui-Gon, to Qui-Gon's apprentice. He must feel so ignored…_

Obi-One cleared his throat and blinked. _This has to work._

Or my life's over.

He fell against the pillows.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon slipped into the room, his slick boots treading soft in his graceful, light way. He could be an incredibly commanding presence, if it was his wont or duty. He could part a crowd with the determined furrow of his brow; scatter a bloodthirsty, conscienceless gang by his sheer size alone…

Or, he could meld into the scenery, a chameleon of sorts, appearing as meek and harmless as one could possibly believe. Someone could walk past him without registering his dampened presence at all.

But, whether taking advantage of his considerable stature, talent for projecting a subdued nature, or disappearing somewhere between the two, Qui-Gon Jinn could never disguise himself from Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Even now.

"I'm glad you're back." The young man said, mouth untouched by what Qui-Gon perceived to be relief. His face was, as always, a marriage of intensity and gentle beauty, forehead forever on the brink of creasing, eyes coated in quivering liquid that was the closest living definition of stardust. 

The deciding factor was the pair of sculpted, nearly thin lips. They ruled the mood of his visage…as the former mirrors of his soul were closed off by the buzzing ruby blade a decade before…

Dancing grin.

Serious, still, compressed stretch. 

Guarded smile.

This…absence of emotion puzzled the Master, and as he approached the beside, he felt a familiar ache in his chest. 

Obi-Wan's head leaned minutely toward the sound of his movements. "Was your apprentice angered?" 

Qui-Gon sank into the adjacent chair and loosely crossed his legs. "He was…disappointed. But he's a good boy…" _man? _"He understood his efforts are needed elsewhere. He's leaving shortly for home."

__

Home. Obi-One found he was bringing his fingers in a tangle again. "Will we be following?"

Qui-Gon reached out to brush a hand along the outline of his temple. "Yes. I'm not sure how soon, but yes."

Obi-One nodded, useless eyes falling shut.

Qui-Gon's, still very much potent and attentive, remained on him. "Are you anxious about the surgery, Obi-Wan?" He asked, a little too bluntly, he thought, once he heard it released to the air. 

Obi-One was motionless in the downy, bleached surroundings of his hospital bed. Suddenly, he looked ill with weariness. "Yes." He admitted, and breathed in. "But I'm also eager.

"To let everything return to normal for everyone." _To let you get on with your own life._

Qui-Gon frowned. "What d'you mean?"

Obi-One tipped his head to the other side, as if escaping the questioning gaze he couldn't see. Strands of his hair left identical shadows on his skin. "I want everything of my life back. I know that. But more…I want you and your apprentice to be able to move forward."

The hulking man draped his arm tenderly around the lamenting figure. "Anakin hasn't been…_inconvenienced _by all this. He is Jedi, and is concerned for your welfare, as I am.

"Besides, he has his own business to attend to. He won't be bored while I'm here with you."

Obi-One nodded, but the dispirited expression lingered. "What about you?"

Qui-Gon just smiled. "I've told you. I would do anything for you…and never regret a moment spent doing it. After you were promoted, after the battle on Naboo…we didn't visit often. I'm grateful, despite the circumstances, to be here with you."

A warm hand covered his. Obi-One hesitated before curling his fingers around it. It was difficult to accept the explanation without questioning the depth of its truth. He _was_ in desperate shape here. It was only a cruel person who would voice the negative feelings of their heart to him now.

And he knew, if nothing else, that Qui-Gon Jinn was NOT a cruel person. 

But, while still grasping to some misgivings, Obi-One grasped the offered hand. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme stood beside her desk chair, a slender, cold hand resting on the rich suede.

The last words she spoke echoed in her mind, the weight of them only now becoming known to her. From the vantage point of thereafter, the hasty proposal sounded so impulsive and….childish. 

Fingers trailing along her belly, as they so very often did in recent days, Padme was astonished to remember that she was an entrusted Senator of this beautiful, significant world. Would she have so readily leaped into supporting a treaty, or advising Jamilla concerning a new bill?

Staring with glazed, dark eyes unfocused at the soft sweep of deep navy-colored carpet, Padme Amidala sighed. Was it really her heart that led her blindly into this impossible arrangement? 

She slid a violet, transparent jacket over a shimmering sleeveless dress of purple that circled her elegant throat, clung snugly to her bosom and midsection, before streaking out in a creased skirt that brushed against her ankles.

The woman wondered how much longer she could fit in her personally tailored, indulgent attire. How many months she could project the image that nothing had changed…

When, in fact, _everything _had. 

Swiping a curl out of her face, Padme quietly contacted her assistant. "Meri, please ask Mr. Dane to bring a small transport to the entrance."

"Right away, Milady. Do you require the company of Dorme'?"

The politician allowed herself a brief smile. Her devoted handmaiden had been scantly in her presence recently, assigned to various locations to throw off any possible assailants. Padme was always worried for her friend's safety.

Too many members of her entourage either ended their services or had been injured in the attempts on the Naboo Senator's life. Sabe' had left a few years before, and the hole her absence left was difficult to deal with. She was lucky to have Dorme'. If only she had the time to be sure her double knew that. "No, Meri. But…tell her that I've missed her company. I will speak with her as soon as I can."

"Yes, Milady."

Padme stood in the ensuing silence. _Stars…This is actually happening. _

It was a slim minute she had to register her shock. Meri announced her driver's arrival, and Padme hurried to meet him.

The sun beamed down golden on the street, Dane's protective eyewear catching the gleam. "Good day, Senator." He greeted. 

Padme gave him a fond smile. "Good day, Dane. Thank you for your speed. I…can't be late."

Dane nodded, glancing at her over his broad shoulder. "And you won't be." He grinned. 

"Thank you." She gazed out the tinted window.

The chauffeur chuckled. "Were you planning on telling me where you'll be going?"

"Oh." She blushed, without a trace of humor. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dane. Theed Castle."

And the small vessel came cleanly to animation, riding along the road, toward the site of her secret nuptials. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin's hands were clenched behind his back, his legs spread marginally apart, his shoulders squared beneath the black leather tunic. The glittering water rippling softly beyond the ancient pillars reflected the glow of the afternoon sun in broken shards, and stray droplets moistened the clusters of greenery. 

He remembered his mother standing at his bedside, hair tied away from her weary, creased, beautiful face. Her skin gleamed in the darkness, burned by the years toiling in the height of simmering Tatooine heat. A hardened hand stroked his small, grimy cheek. 

__

"My sweet boy." Shmi murmured with her endearing, familiar smile. She trailed her tanned finger along the tiny bridge of his nose, causing the child to wrinkle it with a quiet giggle.

His bed was tucked away in a wall of his room, and Anakin loved the semi-privacy of the location, the way it was occasionally shaded on cooler days. He was barely given the chance to hide away, constantly at work in Watto's cramped, greasy little shop, or scraping together enough food so his Mother was saved from the further exertion of cooking, or repairing his own (sometimes faulty) creations, including C3-PO, his only real friend outside Kitster. 

The other kids that played on the dunes, with their jealous eyes and hidden whispers, laughed at him. At first, he was hurt, so badly his chest ached, and he would dash home, tears streaking his face, and his hands fisted tight. He would throw himself upon his lumpy bed and cry long and bitterly.

Now he matched their hateful glares with his, and learned to embrace the pain of his rejection, because it made him feel…stronger.

He gazed up at his lone parent, and his heart welled with love. She would never cast him aside, or sneer at him for his perceived differences. Her affection was unconditional. 

"What's the matter?" She asked, traces of a frown crossing over her face, and concern tingeing her faintly accented voice. 

Anakin quirked his lips. "Nothing." His wide, pale eyes were loyal, and she didn't sense his sad reminisces. It was better not to give her reason to worry. "Tell me about that place."

Shmi laughed lightly. "Again? I've told you a million times, Ani!"

"But it sounds new every time, mom." He countered, though he knew she was teasing, as she faithfully did each night. 

She smoothed his messy, corn silk mane. "Well, I suppose a million and one won't hurt anything."

Anakin beamed, and snuggled deep beneath the covers. 

Shmi lowered to the frame of his bed and folded her hands on her knees, a gleaming fondness overcoming her chestnut eyes. "There's a land that I passed through once, as a young girl, when I was sold to a new master. The ship had to be stopped for emergency attention, so I and a few others were forced to vacate. We were chained, of course, but it didn't matter.

"As soon as I saw that place, so bright and clean, I knew I'd never seen somewhere so lovely. The sky was such a clear blue, like your eyes, " And she paused to brush along the lids, "The ocean was a thousand colors, and these gorgeous sea animals would rise from the waves. Animals with happy, laughing calls that filled the air. Birds flew so close to the water it must have wet their wings, but they didn't seem to be in any danger. Life forms existed in harmony. 

"There were flowers everywhere, all in bloom, and lending this wonderful scent that remained in my clothes and hair for days afterward.

"We were there but a few hours, but it was the best experience of my life." Shmi touched his forehead. "Until the gods blessed me with you. I often dream that I am returned to that perfect world, and you are beside me, and we run along the grassy hills, and swim in those waters."

She smiled ruefully. "And we would stay there forever."

Anakin sighed and sat up, wrapping his short arms around her. "One day we'll be there, mom."

Shmi pressed a kiss on the crown of his head. "I pray that we will, my son. But for now," She lay him back and pulled the thin sheet around his chin, "We have our dreams."

Anakin had to turn away from the scene of pristine nature, wiping at his tearing eyes. Today he would marry the woman he loved.

And his mother wouldn't know, let alone witness the ceremony.

She was working in the blistering torridity of the desert, or eating alone at the crumbling kitchen table…or, maybe, dreaming of her world, where she was free of the shackles of slavery, and her beloved son was alongside her. 

"I wish you were here, mom." He whispered in the stillness. "I wish you could know Padme, and Master Qui-Gon, and…" A choking sob was wrenched from his throat, and the Padawan swallowed hard, grasping the railing. "I miss you."

The sound of a halting transport broke his sorrow, and he stood straight, blinking. 

__

I love you, mom And you're here…in my memory.

He heard footsteps nearing.

__

In my heart. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon leaned his bearded chin into his palm, eyes closed. Dr. Gale had come and gone, offering a flash of comforting smile to the Master and kind, assuring words to her patient, but Qui-Gon could detect the cloud of anxiety in her warm violet eyes. She truly cared for Obi-Wan, and the upcoming procedure would be daunting for anyone. He sent low waves of Force toward her spirit. Ungifted by the powerful entity, she nevertheless could be eased by the suggestion. 

As he expected, Mazella stopped for a moment, taut shoulders lowering.

He hoped the favor lasted.

Obi-Wan had been withdrawn since their emotionally-wrenching talk, reclined with his hands folded on his middle. The atmosphere surrounding him remained bright from his inherent purity through the Force, but was otherwise muddled by the unshielded feelings streaming through. 

Despite Qui-Gon's efforts to bolster the uncertain man, fear and shades of doubt were thick in the room. 

__

Perhaps they don't all belong to him. He admitted inwardly, rubbing fingers across his eyes. Obi-Wan's mind was precious, cradled by a loving Force and untainted by darkness. Even with his past erased, his personality endured.

__

What if it goes wrong? What if in trying to regain his memories, he loses even more? Cold prickling rushed over Qui-Gon's body. _Mazella's qualified…but that can't guarantee the surgery will be completely successful._

He ran a hand through gray-streaked hair. _Force, what if…_

"Qui-Gon?"

An unusually timid voice spoke, jarring him before he could finish the morbid thought. Grateful, Qui-Gon turned to the slightly pale form. "Yes, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-One breathed out slowly, then compressed his lips. "There's a chance…things could go quite wrong…isn't there?"

Qui-Gon was surprised by the pained smile the question brought to his face. _Our minds were always on the same page. _"There's a _narrow_ chance that complications could arise. But that's true of any procedure."

Obi-One paused before nodding. 

Qui-Gon edged forward and laid a hand on his arm. "Your doctor is the best in her field. She wouldn't allow this at all unless she was completely confident."

"I know." He answered quietly.

"Then what's wrong?" Qui-Gon rubbed the arm gently. Without sight or their bond, physical solace was the best he could offer. 

"I--Can you tell me another--story? About my apprenticeship?" A blush lined his cheeks. "I didn't want to ask, but…if I don't respond to this…or…"

Qui-Gon touched his finger to Obi-One's quivering mouth. He hated to see the embarrassment and apprehension marring the soft face. "Don't worry about that."

Obi-One gulped down the growing dread in his throat. "I want to think of a good time…if that's all I'll have…if everything ends up taken from me."

Qui-Gon shook his head, pulling the shaking figure into his arms. "Oh Obi-Wan."

The body, pressed up close to his, jerked with pent-up consternation, chilled in the paper-thin hospital gown. 

Qui-Gon was almost overcome with grief. "Settle down." He urged unevenly. "I'll be watching over you. I love you.

"I'll tell you about the moment I knew."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ 

__

Sabotage.

He should have sensed it, should have suspected something when the pilot backed out at the last moment, insisting that the young Jedi student test his ample skills.

Qui-Gon's protest was silenced by the eager twinkle in his apprentice's sea-washed eyes, though the youth didn't speak a word, his stance passive, two steps backward and one to the right of his Master's considerable shoulder. 

The planet isn't so far from here. _He reasoned, focus flickering over The Twilight Dance's unwilling captain. "Why would you trust your lovely vessel to a child?" He asked, not completely silencing the skepticism in his rumbling, accented voice. _

The man, with narrow, nearly feminine features disguised by a burly black beard, shrugged. "Hey, I've been bouncing around this damned galaxy for months, pal. I'd like 'ta spend some of these credits I've had pilin' up for all that time." He grinned and nudged the Master lightly in the flank. "Been itching for some of that good blue…"

A hard look from Qui-Gon steered the rest of his comment elsewhere.

"Blue juice." He finished, laughing nervously, glancing at the fifteen year old boy whose bright eyes had yet to leave him. "Don't touch that other stuff. Especially bein' a pilot and all."

Qui-Gon nodded absently. "Since we need a…humble arrival on Lestar II, I suppose this arrangement would be satisfactory."

The man couldn't contain his happiness at the decision. "That's great. Hey, your price'll go down big time. Just hafta pay for usin' the old girl."

Qui-Gon slipped a clean, slim billfold from an inner layer of his tunic. "That's fine."

Once the money was exchanged, the captain shook both their hands enthusiastically, then trotted down the opened hatch.

Qui-Gon watched him go, frowning slightly.

Obi-Wan waited for the swaggering form to disappear into the distance before he spoke. "That's curious."

The Master brought in the ramp with a Force-enhanced wave of his hand. He walked through the meager bowels, ignoring the stacks of rusting silver boxes and other clutter. "Yes."

The Padawan followed him into the cramped cockpit. "Well, it's a good thing he left. We wouldn't have been able to fit everyone in this little clunker."

Qui-Gon inspected the board of dials and flashing lights carefully, finger poised on his chin. "Everything appears to be in order."

Obi-Wan moved closer. He swallowed. "Then, do I get to pilot?"

Midnight blue eyes didn't lift from the control panel. "It was only his suggestion, Padawan. And I wouldn't consider his opinion to be a valued one."

Obi-Wan retreated the few steps he had taken, his mouth forming a whispered "Oh."

Qui-Gon turned around and smiled. "But I_ trust my own, mostly. So get comfortable." He gestured to the pilot's threadbare chair._

From the widening of Obi-Wan's eyes, one would have thought it was a golden throne. A grin split his face. "Thank you, Master." He said, serenely and ever-reverent of his teacher. 

Qui-Gon reached out to place a hesitant hand on his student's shoulder. "Just remember a pilot's responsibilities, young one."

Obi-Wan plopped into the seat and looked slyly at Qui-Gon. "Okay. I'll stay away from the 'blue juice'."

Qui-Gon smirked. "Cheeky."

The Padawan chuckled before absorbing his attention entirely on his task.

Qui-Gon found he was still standing there, observing the boy's work, long after he intended. Shaking his head, he strode into the adjoining, and only, private quarters.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^

__

A strong shake catapulted him from his shallow sleep. 

Qui-Gon sat up, and almost flew over the side of the bolted bed when another fierce rocking seized The Twilight Dance.

Grasping to the wall, he made it slowly to the door. He could see Obi-Wan standing at the controls, calmly manipulating back-up switches…but…it seemed….to no avail.

Qui-Gon felt too groggy from a mere nap, he rubbed at his face. "Obi-Wan! What's happening?!" He shouted.

Obi-Wan wheeled around. The color had drained from him. "I don't know, Master. We've penetrated the planet's atmosphere, but now the ship's…The engine's failing. And back-up too."

Qui-Gon was a blur, dashing to the panel while the small transport quaked. The illuminated buttons had dimmed totally, and the lighting was close behind. 

Obi-Wan's eyes darted around the darkening space. He ignited his saber to provide an azure glow, breathing heavily. "Master..I feel…"

"Cut off." The man supplied grimly. "So do I." He stepped back from the dead controls, and looked over at his apprentice. "The comm units won't work either."

"We have no way to warn the people below." Obi-Wan realized, real fear dawning in his face. 

Qui-Gon grabbed his arm. "Don't worry about what we can't change." The base of a Jedi mantra fell habitually from his lips as he lumbered toward the bedroom, keeping Obi-Wan ahead of him.

Before the door even sealed The Twilight Dance began to plummet. Qui-Gon pushed his apprentice to the ground, covering the slighter body with his, flushed cheeks pressed. 

"Master…" A muffled murmur came urgently.

Qui-Gon tightened his flowing robe around them both. "Padawan. Stay limp as you can. You'll sustain less injuries that way."

His orders could barely be heard, with the loud crashes bombarding the failing ship. 

"Yes…Master…" Obi-Wan replied dutifully. He gripped the neckline of his mentor's tunic. 

Qui-Gon looked down at the frantic, suddenly small and piercingly innocent face. 

"I love you." The child confessed, tears quivering in his gaze. "I love you."

Qui-Gon wanted to speak, but the air was stolen from him as The Twilight Dance collided with the unyielding ground.

All he could do was hug his Padawan to him, and shut his eyes.

Oblivion rushed up to meet the pair, black, smothering and promising nothing.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^

__

A throbbing pain had collected in his head, and traveled down the lean column of his neck, burning at the curve where it met the arch of his shoulders. He recognized the symptom. 

This hadn't been his first crash landing, after all. 

Just the most harrowing.

Cautiously, Qui-Gon lifted a single eyelid, stinging moisture welling with the scant movement. The Force was as elusive as it had been during the rough descent. It remained a shadow. He could sense it, but barely feel it. 

The absence left him cold. 

He shifted his head, and discovered it was bandaged and cushioned by a soft surface, as was his entire, long body. Hospital? _His mind was muddled, surrounded by a fog that could only be lifted through reconnection with the Force. _

His stomach, and heart, fell. Obi…Wan?

__

Qui-Gon worked to open his eyes, revealing the dingy interior of The Twilight Dance. He blinked. How? _But his initial curiosity was outweighed by taut worry for his young apprentice. Without the unifying energy to connect them, he had no idea, not even an ill-defined guess, as to the wellbeing of Obi-Wan. _

And he needed to stand up.

The deafening din of the ship's strain, along with the smashing impact of its loose contents, echoed in his ears now.

"I love you."

__

The sweet, honest words had been the last before unconsciousness claimed him. Privately, he had believed they were the final he would ever hear, and he let them repeat as his Padawan clung to him, like a child grappling for warmth, forgetting in the ferocious, insane whirlwind that Obi-Wan WAS a child…

Qui-Gon swept to his feet, hand bracing his head as a strong wave of dizziness assaulted him. The burned stench that wafted up from the attached room thickened the tongue dry in his mouth. 

"Obi-Wan!" He called, the sheer volume of his voice slicing through his head. He stumbled into the main area.

The lids from the storage boxes had been thrown to the side. Shards of broken material littered the ground. Though the scent lingered, the air was clear of smoke. 

His chest tightened. How…long? _"Obi-Wan! Padawan, answer me!" There was a ring of authority to the command._

"…master?" A small, trembling reply came, and Qui-Gon headed toward it, swallowing the burst of nausea that his anxiety borne. The ship's opening was bashed and beaten in.

From the look of it, someone had to manually force the hatch down. 

He walked along the crushed ramp, the alien world bathed in the grays and bleeding pinks of dusk. Skeletal trees loomed, and cast spiny shadows on the dirt ground…shading the huddled form of his Padawan.

Qui-Gon slowed. "Obi-Wan?" He said, softer now, the urgency eased. 

Obi-Wan glanced up with pale, moist, filmy eyes. It seemed to take an elongated moment for him to identify his teacher. When he did, he surged to his feet. "Master, you shouldn't be up yet! You suffered a-a concussion. You were delirious and---"

Qui-Gon traced his large, rough hand lightly along the outline of his cheek, calming him. Burgundy was spilling from a deep gash across the youth's left temple, drenched in his brow. The wound was bordered by black clusters of aged blood. Dark bruises splotched his face. Half his tunic had been ripped away, to form the dressings for Qui-Gon's injury. "Obi-Wan, how much time has passed since you woke?"

Obi-Wan blinked, his gaze becoming distant and unfocused, mouth moving silently. His feet were bare, leggings slashed nearly to his thighs. His flat, naked stomach heaved in tune with his breathing. 

Qui-Gon held his upper arms steadily. 

"Three days." Obi-Wan rasped at last. He pulled himself away and touched the makeshift ligature around his Master's head, shaking. "I-I-I think it needs changing. I-I'll change it." He muttered to himself, beginning to unravel another layer of his creamy, stained top. 

"No." He halted the frenetic fingers. Obi-Wan stared up at him, confused. 

"I'm fine, Obi-Wan. You took very good care of me." He smiled through his mounting disquiet, smoothing the sweat-slicked hair. 

Obi-Wan twisted the frayed strip of material in his hands, the setting sun leaving a tender orange radiance on his perspiring face. His eyes darted back and forth, fixed on the gritty forest floor. "Nooo…I let the ship crash…And I went outside to s-see where we were…And there was this nest of…of birds. The mother was…smashed. She died and her…babies were crying…They were so small…"

Qui-Gon took him by the shoulders . "Obi-Wan, we were set up. There're Force-repressors stashed somewhere in the ship. The engine was timed to malfunction. There was nothing either of us could've done. But you saved me."

Obi-Wan inhaled weakly. "I didn't know…if you were going to make it. I stayed with you. A-And I couldn't sleep, because what if you…what if you…" Tears rolled down his battered face. 

Qui-Gon hooked his hands under Obi-Wan's arms and lifted him. Obi-Wan tried to squirm out of his hold. "No.. They're still here. They n-need me."

And then the Master saw them. A tiny group of infant kosdas, chirping with impossibly diminutive, hooked beaks. Their snowy fur was mussed, and beady, black eyes blinked up at the Jedi. 

Qui-Gon looked back at Obi-Wan. "I'll watch them while you rest."

"N-No." Obi-Wan refused, with wide, panicked eyes. "You need to rest…t-to get better…I can't lose you…"

Qui-Gon started inside. "You're not going to lose me, Padawan." He murmured, barely able to talk with the choking emotion rising in him. 

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around the older man's neck. "I CAN'T lose you…"

Qui-Gon had to galvanize himself in order to cross the room, fighting the tenacious efforts of the Force-suppressors. "You won't lose me, Obi-Wan…" He lowered the boy to the bed, and tore bands of his own tunic off.

The apprentice tried to sit up. 

Qui-Gon pushed him down on the pillow with little exertion. He dabbed the dark blood from the strained face. "But I don't want to lose you, either."

Obi-Wan sniffed. "I'm….tired." He whispered

Qui-Gon brought him into the circle of his gentle embrace, sitting him on his legs and cradling the traumatized head on his chest. "Then sleep. I'll take over. You've been a…hero."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "No…"

"Yes." Qui-Gon ghosted his lips across the ginger hair. "And I love you too."

Without uttering a reply, the Padawan gripped him, more tears falling . 

It wasn't a minute before he had drifted off, surrendering to the exhaustion.

Qui-Gon held him.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^

Obi-One smiled, eyes stinging with moisture. "I--I really did that?" He asked, disbelief soft in his tone, flush lining his cheeks.

Qui-Gon looked at his face, and saw, as he always did, the glimpses of the vibrant child this man had once been. The compassionate ways he retained, even now, that glinted in his eyes. "Yes." Qui-Gon confirmed with a chuckle. "I had never known anyone, young or otherwise, with such incredible courage."

"How'd we get out of that mess?"

"Well, a group of nomads happened upon the wreckage, and they were kind enough to share some herbal medicines to speed your recovery. By the time we reached civilization, you were mostly coherent, and cradling the little birds in what was left of your tunic." He smoothed a ginger hair into place. "It was later discovered that a dissident group paid the pilot to set up the malfunction. So he was given a sum for his trouble, the ship, _and_ for our use of the vessel. "

Obi-One snorted. "I guess he could afford a hefty share of 'blue juice' after all that. " He quipped.

Qui-Gon's mouth fell slightly open. "Gods, Obi-Wan."

The man creased his forehead. "What?"

He covered his mouth, laughing. "That's _exactly_ what you said when I first told you, twenty years ago."

Obi-One dropped his head on the pillow and grinned widely, dimples curving around his stretched mouth. 

"I suppose some things never change." Qui-Gon concluded, wiping at his wet eyes. "You'll always be cheeky."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Anakin stood straight, his hands numb along with his mind. _Force_.

Padme Amidala had been walking toward him, but she stopped in an ancient alcove, staring at him with eyes pooled deep chestnut. The sun streamed in a warm orange band across her face. Her curled hair spilled over her shoulders.

She slowly smiled, dewy lips shining, a strange shyness overcoming her.

Anakin's heart thundered. He felt the need to capture her in his arms, claim that mouth until the fever of his passion was depleted and he could collapse in the perfect, luscious presence of her. 

But at the same time, he was rendered motionless by the sight of this... His Padme. 

The trickling water gently permeated the quiet. Padme began to head toward him, a yearning open on her face. Anakin hastened to meet her.

She hesitated, looking up at him with pale uncertainty.

"Padme." He breathed, and trailed her jaw down to her chin, eyes intense.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Ani."

The kiss was long, lasting through tears that formed in their closed eyes. 

His hands fell to the curve of her waist while hers caressed his thick, sandy hair. 

The Force twined around them, pulling them further into the madness of the moment.

But it was marred by the shadows of a different side of the omnipotent entity. One without the beauty of righteousness.

The shaded form that resided in the soul of Anakin Skywalker, that crept into the spirit of Padme Amidala.

Their lips melded once more, and only strengthened it.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Obi-One's hand went to his chest, a frown transforming his face.

Qui-Gon leaned toward him. "Obi-Wan? What's wrong?"

He shook his head and swallowed, nearly choking in the process. "I-I don't know…I can't…understand what I feel…"

The Master calmed the fearful reaction in his heart, then braced Obi-One's temples. "Where is it coming from?"

Obi-One squeezed the bedsheets between his fingers. "Ins-side…but not from m-me…"

Understanding dawned in Qui-Gon grimly. He took the quivering Knight in his embrace, trying to still him. "It's alright. I know what you're feeling."

Obi-One gripped the broad back. "Wh-What is it?"

"I feel it too." He comforted. "It's the Force. But you can't control it without training. Do you remember when I told you about it?"

Obi-One nodded, grimacing as another wave went through him.

Qui-Gon tightened his hold. "Just try to relax."

He trembled as the darkness that coated his sight seemed to engulf his entire body. "Do you feel…It's bad, is---isn't it?"

Qui-Gon cupped his head protectively. "Yes." He agreed in a husky voice. _But why is it so…familiar?_

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

"Mmmph..Ani…we should…" Padme broke the kiss, but only shallowly, their breath warm and intermixing. "We should stop."

Anakin raked his fingers through her rich, dark hair. "I don't want to stop. _Never_."

She sighed and settled against his muscled body. 

The perfume of nature ran light through the air, and filled Padme's senses. It smelled of safety and security. She breathed it in, for stability wasn't guaranteed in the murky uncertainty of their shared future. 

"Excuse me."

A subdued, uneasy voice interrupted the heated lust. The lovers separated, though their hands lingered in a hooking of sweaty fingers. 

The priest was clothed in black, a layer of gray thinly covering his head. He possessed kind features and a slender build. "I assume you're the woman who contacted me this afternoon?" The man asked with a small, knowing smile. A young woman, dressed simply in a gray gown, stood beside him, acting as witness to the private event. 

Padme clasped Anakin's hands. "Yes. Thank you for coming so quickly."

He tilted his head in recognition. "Well, it's my place in life. To tend to such needs at a moment's notice. And it's my pleasure, Madam."

Padme beamed. 

The Priest motioned to a lovely arch overseeing the glittering waters. "Now, if we could begin."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

When the last, soft words were spoken, and the holy man closed the velvet book, Anakin inhaled, cold bumps racing up his body.

Padme gazed up with moist eyes, mascara deluding in sooty clouds on her lashes. Through trembling lips, she managed to grin, and Anakin noticed for the first time the endearing, crooked quality of that smile. 

He dragged his hands down her arms. "Love you."

Padme craned her neck to reach his ready mouth. "Forever." 

A snowy white bird glided through the cloudless, azure sky, and the Priest glanced at his companion, exchanging silently their reaction to the almost unseemly perfection of the event.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mere miles away, Qui-Gon had no idea of the monumental changes of the passing moments.

The sun began to set, ushering in a calm twilight…that would lead to darkness.


	11. Who Reaches For You

**__**

Chapter 11: Who Reaches For You

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon carried the tumblers of water into the still, silent room. The window's sparse drapery had been tied back to reveal a black and starless night. 

He wondered how often this gorgeous planet endured sleepy hours without the delicate beams of illumination piercing through the dark. He stood , frozen, eyes peering into the shadowed distance.

The Master hoped this wasn't an indication of things to come.

He had gone far too long without light. 

Obi-One sensed, as he was doing more with every passing day, the older man's arrival, sitting up. His fingers twisted in the blankets and he swallowed. He tried studiously to lessen the nervous habits, but his anxiety couldn't be controlled. Not now. "Did you speak with your apprentice?"

Qui-Gon placed a pale hand around the glass, then rested in the plastic, well-used chair. "Yes. He's on his way to Coruscant now. He sends his best wishes for you." _A little bending of the truth won't hurt…I'm sure Anakin feels that way in the first place…deep down._

Obi-One sipped the drink without much interest. His heart pounded in his ears. "Th-That's good. I'm sure he misses being home. " He took a longer, cool swallow, lips pressing together with a quiet, moist click. "Do _you_ miss home?"

Qui-Gon tilted his head in contemplation. "I suppose I always do, when away on missions. I'm not constantly aware of it, being busied by other tasks, but yeah. There's something--warm about being around other Jedi. A kindred feeling that connects us."

Obi-One gave a half-smile. "That sounds great."

Qui-Gon downed the rest of his water and set it aside. He leaned back in the chair. "It can be a remote life. Often, in fact. Sometimes, the only thing that sustained me was remembering what I had back at the Temple. My friends, my peers and former Master. 

"Having an apprentice changes…everything. In desperate situations, I was instantly worried for their safety above my own, above anyone else's, truth be told. There were horrible times when I had to put their protection behind others', and it was then that I wished sorely for the basic shelter of the Temple. As a Knight, I longed to seek out injustice, to right every wrong. 

"When I became responsible for another life, I still wanted to accomplish those things. But I wanted my apprentice to be beside me. I wanted a better Universe for them…I didn't care about adventure. I became content to remain on Jedi grounds, just sparring and training and _living_."

Obi-One nodded, the tumbler lying forgotten in his hands.

"With my first apprentice, leaving the Temple was a bit daunting. I was concerned she wouldn't handle missions as easily as my usual mission partners did. The second jumped into assignments without any detectable hindrances. Eyes wide open…" He winced at the slip , but Obi-One didn't appear to notice. "You were somewhere in between . Your goodness concerned me, because I perceived it to be a vulnerability. In the beginning, I was sure you'd be a target for all kinds of criminals. But I soon found you could more than hold your own." Qui-Gon grinned, touching his arm briefly. "Then I was worried you were too eager to rush into missions. The Temple is safer territory for an apprentice to grow.

"But it can only provide so much."

Obi-One dropped his head to the pillow. "What about your apprentice now?" He thought for a beat. "Anakin?"

The reminiscent gleam faded from Qui-Gon's eyes. "Ani's--different. I worry for him, of course, but not in the same ways. It's difficult to explain."

"He's easier to believe in than your previous apprentices?" Obi-One asked, voice bereft of envy. 

Qui-Gon sighed. Heavy conflict warred inside him. "---No, I wouldn't say that. I believed in all my Padawans. "

"Then what sets him apart?"

The Master ran his hands through his silvering mane. "There is so much expected of Anakin."

Obi-One's brow furrowed. "From you?"

Qui-Gon's mouth had gone dry. He cursed himself for drinking too fast. "I expect…as much from him as I do any Jedi apprentice. I expect him to be obedient, but express his own ideas, compassionate, hard working."

"Then who else is involved?" The Knight asked softly.

__

Everybody. "The members of the Council…I explained them to you, didn't I?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"There are members of the Council that were--hesitant to even allow him to train to become a Jedi. So I feel as if they are _watching _every move I make as a Master. I think they're secretly critical of him. " He glanced out the window. "Ani's spent so much more time in the Temple because he was accepted late. I think that's why he dislikes returning there."

"Do you think," Obi-One paused, collecting a breath, "He's trying to prove himself?"

Qui-Gon touched a grizzled cheek . "How is it that you can delve so deeply into other peoples' souls? You were around Ani scarcely a minute before he left."

Obi-One shrugged. "It sounds like common sense to me. If you're caged, your instinct when released is to want to fly far from captivity. But eventually, you'll want that security back."

Qui-Gon smiled, shaking his head. "You've always been the philosopher out of my apprentices."

"I don't think it's really a philosophy. Just basic instinct. I can't remember this Temple place, can't even remember my birthday, but I want to return there."

Qui-Gon slipped the glass from Obi-One's hands, tucking the blankets around his shoulders. "You don't have to worry about that. As soon as the surgery's over, and you've recovered sufficiently, we'll go home."

Obi-One nestled in the pillows and yawned. "I can't wait."

He combed stray hairs from the honeyed forehead. "Neither can I."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mazella Gale entered the hospital room silently, her shoes padding with cautious across the floor, violet-streaked eyes steadfast on her slumbering patient.

Kenobi was asleep on his side. A thin, clear i.v. tube was strewn over his arm, imbedded in the tender flesh of his wrist. 

His ever-attentive friend was sitting rigid beside him, towering form cramped into the restrictive hard-backed chair. Brilliant blue eyes stared intensely at the gleaming tile.

Mazella could feel the dense apprehension. She swallowed. "Master Jinn?"

Her small voice was downgraded to a hushed whisper, but the man heard, lifting his head.

She smiled. "Good morning. Everything's prepared for the procedure."

Qui-Gon stood. "Oh…" He glanced at the oblivious form on the bed. His stomach knotted. "I…should wake him?"

"Yes. But be very gentle. We shouldn't add any stress to mind or body."

He nodded.

"Although I don't think I really needed to tell you that." She gave an encouraging wink. 

Qui-Gon inhaled, but the air had become so cold he closed his mouth. Slowly, he crouched down to the Knight's level.

"Obi-Wan." He called softly. His hand moved over the ginger cap of hair. "Obi-Wan, wake up."

Obi-One's lips parted slightly, a long, dreamy sigh falling free.

Qui-Gon stroked his arm. "Obi-Wan?"

This effort had a stronger effect on him. Obi-One frowned, trying to turn away from the rousing noise. 

Qui-Gon had to grin inwardly. Whether burrowed in the crisp, bland sheets of the healing wing, or sprawled on his own bed, or even collapsed among the grit and leaves of makeshift forest shelter, Obi-Wan Kenobi was notorious (if only to his Master) for grappling onto sleep far after the older Jedi was wide awake. 

He shook a shoulder. "Come on now."

"…hmmph.." Obi-One sighed sleepily. "…it…time?"

The Master ghosted his touch across the closed eyes. "Yes. It's time."

Obi-One abruptly tried to sit up, and Qui-Gon wrapped a supportive arm around him. "Easy, easy."

He rang his tongue over his dried lips. "'m…going in…now?"

"Yeah."

Obi-One gulped. "Okay."

Qui-Gon gripped his hand. "You're doing great. And you're going to be fine. Alright?"

The whitening face was placid, teeth clamped on his mouth. "Alright."

"Good." Qui-Gon pulled him against his chest. He could feel the mad flutter of Obi-One's heart. "Just think about what I told you. About _The Twilight Dance_?"

Obi-One nodded, tears glistening on his cheeks.

Mazella's hand stopped briefly on Qui-Gon's shoulder, then she slid a syringe from her smock.

Qui-Gon returned him to the pillow. "Think about how we took care of each other…"

"A-And the blue juice…" Obi-One supplied, the last word cracking.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Yeah. Think of the baby birds you saved…"

Mazella sterilized the inside bend of his arm with a cool, wet swab. 

Obi-One tensed visibly, his fingers tight around Qui-Gon's. "The birds…" He repeated feebly, and sketched a hasty smile.

Qui-Gon kissed his forehead while the needle plunged in his arm. 

"I love you." The rich voice murmured near his ear.

Obi-One's breath hitched. He felt himself drifting into a thick oblivion. "I…"

He was unconscious before he could return the affection.

Qui-Gon looked down at him, stricken.

Mazella was adjusting his monitors, and two uniformed orderlies arrived with a wheeled stretcher.

Qui-Gon's eyes remained on the familiar, sweet, lax face. _He'll be fine…He'll be fine… It'll all be fine…_

Seconds later, he watched in a blur as Obi-One was pushed down an empty hallway, doctors swarming around the mobile cot, Mazella in command.

He scanned the vacated room with helpless, lost eyes. _He has to be fine._

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon's heart lifted when he sensed a nurse approach the doorway, the soft, brisk slap of shoes against the tile flooring, an old-fashioned clip board tucked against her chest.

But she passed without a glance, in a sweep of white.

He sank back into the chair.

Obi-Wan had been whisked away into an operating theatre almost four hours before, his slender body wrapped in blankets and clear tape sealing his eyes, darkening and separating the light lashes.

Qui-Gon drummed his fingers together, pushing the recent memory away.

Every Jedi bone in his body told him meditation could combat this intense apprehension. It was a vital tool to alleviate stress and achieve a balanced center.

But there were times when it was simply _impossible_ to quiet one's mind. 

Like, for instance, when you were marooned in a sterile, stuffy hospital room, while your desperately ill son was under the care of virtual strangers.

Who held his life, his young, cherished life, in their hands.

Qui-Gon rubbed his forehead. "Damn it." He swore lowly.

He had been so certain.

This procedure was the only way to cure Obi-Wan, with his condition so rare, so horrible. Technology was their single beam of hope.

__

Did I explore every available avenue?

He glanced at the empty bed, seeing the faint creases where his former apprentice had lain. 

A strong, cold gurgle went through his stomach. He pressed his palm to it and swallowed. The biting possibilities assailed his mind, taunted his tender, throbbing insecurities. 

__

With all those risks…He could never come back. The fierce worry sprang up before he could fight it, and it proved the grim key to wide, bitter gates.

__

After everything he's been through, losing his sight--twice, living in such isolation, carrying the pain of my mistakes. He leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. _Being robbed of his memories…The last thing he knew was fear and agony…_

His chest was achingly full and tight. _My Obi-Wan…Someone always must hurt what's good. What's true._

He wiped at tears without realizing they had formed. _Even I have._

Qui-Gon could barely admit that Obi-Wan's erasure of his past had given him the chance to reconcile without old indignation and resentment. He was the only support the traumatized man had. Their friendship, however short, had been relatively untainted. 

Soon, those harsh recollections would return.

And his Obi-Wan would endure.

But some place inside his ever-wounded soul would never recover. 

And, cleanly and quickly, Qui-Gon knew what to do.

He rose from his seat, striding to the communicator. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

The comm unit buzzed shrilly, and Mejant trotted to answer it, tying her long drift of silken black hair in a fast, messy tail high on her head.

"Knight Brei." 

The voice that replied was deep, cultured, and instantly recognizable. Her heart, and belly, fluttered. "Master Jinn?" In the rush of her thoughts, a million worries swirled, the strongest being that something terrible had happened, something that prevented _Obi-Wan_ from calling her.

She knew it. She could feel it, in the Force, in her veins.

And she was right. "I know we've never been…close, but I know that you and Obi-Wan have always been. I know you're very important to him."

Mejant paced in a small circle, a hand curled around the small shell of her ear. "Yeah…."

"Obi-Wan was injured while on the Naboo mission. He, " Qui-Gon was forced to stop and swallow, " Was captured, and his memory was erased."

Then, he stopped, sensing the need in her that had already consumed him those days ago, when he looked upon the stolen life of Kenobi, and realized the magnitude of the theft.

"No." Mejant uttered a shuddering gasp. Her dark eyes were wide and brimming with watery anguish. "That---it can't be…" She shook her head, feeling wildly for the chair she knew existed somewhere near, falling into it just as her knees snapped, and gave out. 

"I didn't want to believe it either." Qui-Gon confided, in a kind, sympathetic baritone. "I didn't want to know the enormous impact it would have…"

"NO." Mejant stared at the framed holo of her mate sitting on a corner table, an uninhibited moment he had been stretched in the sand of a cool beach at orange, shadowy sunset, clad in threadbare shorts, his hair strewn over his face, and laughter soft on his mouth. She grasped the picture of frozen perfection in her hand, trying to forget what this man was telling her, focusing on the safer truths she held to. "He's…He's withstood it before. It didn't affect him at all…"

"Sciences of that…that _area_ have advanced since then. And he was sedated. _No one _could've guarded themselves against that kind of power, Mejant." The Master assured. "Not even Obi-Wan."

Mejant's blurring eyes bore into the shimmering gaze of her lifelong companion. She pulled at her restrained hair. "When?"

Qui-Gon inhaled. _I'm not even sure. Feels like more than an eternity. _"Maybe a week. The days…I've lost track, with everything that's happening here."

Mejant stroked the gentle curvatures of Obi-Wan's face, the fight in her dying, tears dropping on the glass. "His entire past--is gone?"

"Yes."

She collapsed into harsh, dry sobs, clutching the photograph to her heaving chest, forgetting in her sorrow the usual shyness that prevented her from revealing anything personal. "All our memories…" The lament dissolved in weak cries.

Qui-Gon waited again, for there was nothing he could do for her, to ease this great, encompassing pain. She was too far away, too unknown to him. 

Mejant sniffled. "Is he alright?" She asked, in a whisper.

"He woke soon after. I explained the situation to him, and he was…upset. But he's Obi-Wan. He adjusted to it, was willing to listen to recollections of his training…" Qui-Gon breathed out. "But I couldn't tell him about you."

The Knight sat up slowly, leaning heavily on the chair's arm. "You couldn't?"

"It would've been too much for him. He knew about losing his Force training, friends. Knowing about you…He was beyond devastation before. That blow could have been irremediable."

Mejant's fingers grabbed at her chin, tears sliding down. "But he'll be coming home, won't he? I have to be able to see him, despite that…I _have_ to."

"He will be coming home. But first, he's undergoing an operation, as we speak, that _could_ return his memories. It's not guaranteed, and even if it's successful, the return will be gradual, but I decided to go ahead with it. The main doctor is renowned, and I trust in her skill."

Mejant swiped her hand across her ears. "What if it…"

Qui-Gon was quick to abolish the morbid concern. "Don't think it, young one. It will do no good, for any one. 

"When he is brought to the Temple, he'll need your love, to handle the memories as they come. I love Obi-Wan, so much, but there are certain…things from our shared past that will extremely hard for him to reaccept into his mind.

"Your relationship with him has been mostly positive, from what I've gathered. You have a mutual affection that runs deeply. If you can be there for him--"

Mejant shook her head, though she was fully aware the Master couldn't see her. "Of course I will. And thank you, Master Jinn. I'm grateful it was you that told me."

There was warmth in Qui-Gon's reply. "I'm grateful that he has someone as dedicated as you. These hours spent, just in this suspended state of fear, have been difficult. It has given me time to think, whether I wanted it or not. " He chuckled humorlessly. "For all the damage inflicted upon Obi-Wan, you have been a salve. I saw it on the landing platform. I sense it now."

Mejant smiled through the overwhelming shock and misery. "We've been there for each other. Always."

"And I don't doubt you'll be there for him when this…hellish thing is over. I only needed to be certain."

Her eyes trailed over Obi-Wan, captured in the beautiful landscape, a reflection of the stunning soul within, and nearly submitted to the pain once more. "I'll be there, Master Jinn." Her forehead wrinkled. "But how can you be sure that he'll beat this?"

"I can't be sure." Qui-Gon told her bluntly. "Jedi that I am, my personal prophecies are limited. I can't tell if this operation will cure him.

"But I _do_ know Obi-Wan has conquered demons that sometimes exist only in nightmares. If I can't have faith in him, what sort of friend, or father, am I?"

Mejant brought her knees up, weaving her trembling arms around them, a habitual position from earliest childhood. "You're right." She said, desolate. "I just wish…There was something I could do."

"I know. I've struggled with the same. But all I figure we can do, Knight Brei, is pray. It doesn't really matter if anyone's listening. It's enough."

Mejant braced the picture in her delicate hands a second longer, then set it back. "He always prayed for you."

Qui-Gon hadn't been prepared for that. "He did?" The man had to ask.

She pulled the band from her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders, and rested her chin on her knees. "Every day, since he became your apprentice." A cloud car sputtered outside her window, but it couldn't completely invade the intimacy. "Once he was Knighted, he couldn't speak of you. But I just knew."

Tears left his voice coarse. "I never…"

"Did you pray for him, Master?"

"Every waking moment, or at least, that's how it felt. Most things in the apartment, even little, insignificant things, reminded me."

Mejant tossed stray tendrils from her face. "So you prayed for each other…" In a rare beat of bravery, she pursued her curiosity. "What did you pray for him?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "Happiness. Relief from the stress he's always been burdened with. The strength to -maybe-forgive me someday.

"But he wasn't happy, was he?"

Mejant caught herself glancing at the framed holo again. "There were brief instances. But that's all they were. Brief. Then he would close up and retreat."

Qui-Gon's agony was huge and burning in his heart. "I was the reason." It wasn't open for debate.

But then, she wasn't prone, or finding reason, for debate. "You're also, partly, the reason he has passion for so many things. An acceptance and understanding of creatures he would've overlooked."

"He would have learned those virtues, eventually, on his own. Those shortcomings were youth-based." 

Mejant tucked her sleeves around her fingers. The Master was being attacked by a tumult of guilt, spurred by the tense circumstances, and his concern for his former Padawan. She still didn't know this man. But she could relate to his emotion. "Don't write off the years spent with him as nothing for Obi-Wan. He wouldn't have made it this far without your guidance….Yes, I know about the mistakes committed. You've caused hurt.

"But, the good you've done him far outweighs the bad.

"_I _think he prays the same things for you. He wants you to be happy, wants you to move past the pain."

Qui-Gon gulped. "I've been misguided, distracted so often…"

"He loves you." Mejant silenced him with the three honest words. She was quivering, surprised at how easily she had abandoned her bashfulness, how the thoughts had spilled from her lips.

"And he loves you, Mejant." Qui-Gon managed. "I can tell why."

She smiled. "Be sure he knows how you feel…Make it right."

"I'll do all that I can. And he'll come home."

Mejant took the bright beach print in her hold. Hope soared, albeit cautiously, inside her. 

"Until then, Knight Brei."

"Until then."

The connection ended.

And she sat in the chair, cold from risen gooseflesh, for several minutes.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon drew the slim, black disk from his tunic, running the circular object around in his hands. Outside, the sun burned high in the rich, blue mural of the Naboo heavens, informing anyone who was unaware that it was the peak of afternoon. 

The morning had faded languorously, the early hours of worry knotting his stomach. Mejant's kind words remained in the front of his consciousness, a comfort throughout the sluggish shuffling of the day, when he would count another sweep of the clock in heavy silence. 

He looked down at the disk. The surface was smudged with fingerprints, some nearing two decades old. It was warm from the heat of his chest, and the thick layers of tan cloth that always enclosed it. 

Eyes coated in reminiscent shimmer, Qui-Gon thumbed the activation button.

A holographic image hovered above the base, surrounded in a buzzing, azure mist. Obi-Wan was half-standing, half-slouching, an engraved, gold medal hanging from his neck and a gangly arm slung around Bant' shoulders. The two were grinning madly, he with his wide, roguish flash of teeth, her with a shy glimmer of self-awareness. His face was rounder, ginger hair shorn in sharp spikes and a short Padawan tail flipped behind his ear. Behind them was a parting crowd, emptying the Temple sparring arena stands. It hadn't been an effortless victory, as could be affirmed by the beads of sweat dripping from his indented chin. 

Qui-Gon smiled. The boy, edging on fifteen, had traced the intricate carvings of the award once, then looped it on a hook in his closet. The Master understood why it was bathed in constant shadow, instead of displayed in the light of the bedroom. Obi-Wan was pleased with the honor, no doubt, but would never allow himself to relish it as other students might.

Qui-Gon wondered absently what had become of it, the medal with the jade strap. Perhaps, when everything was straightened, and Obi-Wan was returned, he would ask.

He flicked on the next photo.

And chuckled out loud. 

The apartment kitchen was cramped with vibrant colored balloons: red, yellow, purple. A huge chunk of cake, with band after band of thick chocolate, was impaled with a fork.

Obi-Wan beamed at the camera, showing a mouth littered with chunks of crumbling black. Beside the plate was a pile of candles.

"Eighteen." Qui-Gon murmured to himself. 

He switched to the following picture, and his smile lowered, replaced by an indefinable expression.

The healers ward was dim, the small room white and shaded with gray. Qui-Gon sat in a chair that Bant was thoughtful enough to provide for his large frame. The young apprentice, seven years into his apprenticeship and clad only in a hospital gown, was snugly cradled against him. Qui-Gon's massive hands cupped his head, steadied his back. The pair were so deeply asleep they didn't notice Obi-Wan's friend snap the holo.

The stay wasn't due to an overly crucial ailment. In fact, the Padawan's appendicitis was already cured, surgery completed and recovery well-begun, when the gentle Mon Calamarian entered the dusky room. 

Later in the week, as Obi-Wan lay napping, she pressed the holo into Qui-Gon's palm. He had looked up at the girl, and mouthed a surprised 'thank you'.

He peered closely at the image now, seeing the way Obi-Wan's hand rested on his Master's upper arm.

The apprentice had been in pain, stretched on his side, whimpering very quietly. He protested when Qui-Gon scooped him up, but his objections died as the Force soothed the lingering aches, and exhaustion sent him drifting to the numbing balm of sleep. 

Qui-Gon smiled again. 

Footsteps clapped against the floor. He glanced at the door, not expecting to see Mazella Gale standing in the frame. 

Weariness paled her saffron skin, but she was grinning, perspiration beaded on her forehead. "It's over, Master Jinn.

"And I believe it worked."

Qui-Gon stood, breath catching in his throat. He searched her face desperately for uncertainty. "You do?"

She nodded, pushing a damp strand of pale pink and ash-tinted hair from her eyes. The young doctor took a few steps inside. "It was a longer procedure than I intended, but he was stable throughout it. The trauma was minor. I don't know if he even felt it."

He heaved a sigh. "That's…wonderful news." 

"He's unconscious now." Mazella squeezed his hand. Her violet eyes were stunningly clear. "I have all the faith in the universe that he'll respond, Master Jinn."

He stared down at her, his chest tight. "I don't know how…I'm so thankful that you've maintained that faith, Doctor Gale."

She smiled. "Oh, come on. You've had faith in him from the beginning. If anyone's saved him---it's you."

Qui-Gon struggled against the well of relieved tears. "It's incredibly nice of you to say. " _Even if I don't believe it._

Mazella crossed her arms, gazing at the distance. "It's the truth, Master Jinn. When this tragedy occurs, its not often that the person has someone to lean on." She turned her bright eyes to him. "All their ties have been snapped in one horrible instant. Only a strong individual's willing to reform the bond, even in the absence of hope and familiarity . 

"They can walk away, and the victim would never know. But if they stay, through it all, then they've established good memories, where there had once been a void."

Qui-Gon drank in the assurances…but not so smoothly. "I've been beside him since the moment he awakened that day." His dark eyes strayed to the window, unable to focus. "But before then, we were apart, in every sense, for a decade."

Mazella watched him.

He glanced in her direction. "And _that_ was entirely my fault. How will Obi-Wan feel when _that_ is restored to his memory?"

She inhaled slowly. "It's a miracle he has the chance to remember it at all." The woman replied, striding to the door. "I understand your upset, Master Jinn. I really do. But even if he never utters a word to you again…Wasn't it worth it?"

Qui-Gon felt his face, and his ears, flush. "Of course."

Mazella tipped her head forward minutely. "And he'll remember these days that you took care of him. He appreciated it then.

"And he'll appreciate it now."

Qui-Gon swallowed. "I pray that he does." He said seriously, sincerely. "When can I see him?"

Mazella stepped into the hall. "Now, if you'd like."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

A nurse was scanning a screen, her spectacles creating severe lines of shadow that streaked up to touch her temples. 

She typed the vitals in her data recorder, then turned toward the cot, half her face bathed in red neon light. 

The patient had been roused to a very shallow consciousness in the operating theater, able to mutter simple responses through numb lips. 

He slipped away into deep sleep moments after, and the rest was thoroughly peaceful, as far as she could ascertain. 

His young visage, while creased from the stress put upon his body, was quite beautiful to her eyes. But she couldn't be certain if the opinion originated from bare attraction, or the knowledge of the amazing hardships the lad had endured. 

Either way, his journey had been long. He deserved the rest.

She smiled, dabbing the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. The dark crescents beneath his eyes were in sick contrast with his paled skin, his hair was damp and wilted. 

Despite the unsettling appearance, the nurse was pleased with his initial progress. She was told , fleetingly, by Doctor Gale that this man was a Jedi, a member of the heroic and almost fabled Order. As a child, in a more primitive area of Naboo, Knights were revered…feared.

She had never seen one so closely. Surely never under the care of her skillful, aged hands. 

He was proof, flushed with life and breath, that the ancient warriors existed. 

And that they indeed fought for justice. For her people. For countless others.

She ran her wrinkled fingers along his arm. "I wonder, young one, how high your price will be." Her voice was quiet, rich. "You'll be well again. Then they'll, whoever they are, they'll send you off into the dangers of the worlds again. And they'll have to trust that when you fall, someone will be there to catch you."

The slick sound of the door opening silenced her worried musings. The elderly nurse stepped back. "Doctor Gale."

Mazella tipped her head in pleasant recognition. "Nurse Ri. How is he?"

"Stable, and very well." She informed her with a smile. A large, imposing man stood behind the diminutive woman. His eyes were striking, full of a quivering melancholy…and kindness. 

Mazella indicated the man with a sweep of her hands. "This is Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He's acting as guardian for the patient."

Ri gave another smile. "He's a remarkable young man, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon could barely focus on the elderly nurse, his concern leading his gaze to the sleeping figure of Obi-Wan. "Yes, he is."

Doctor Gale turned to Ri. "I'd like to speak with you about the patient in four. Let's leave Master Jinn to watch over him."

Qui-Gon bowed shallowly to them. "Thank you. You've done so much."

Mazella nodded. "You're welcome, Master Jinn." 

The two women walked out, and Qui-Gon hardly registered their departure. He came to stand at Obi-Wan's bedside. 

"My child." He whispered, lifting the slim hand and lacing their fingers together. The warmth of the palm, the void of returned pressure, sent tears rolling down his rugged cheeks. "I don't know how much longer I can wait."

Obi-Wan's countenance was drained of its normal, golden color, enhancing the darkness that lined his lashes, the cracked surface of his lips. 

Qui-Gon touched his fingertip lightly on the pale mouth. At that moment, he would have sacrificed…_anything_ to hear words fall from it…Even a single syllable. "I knew you would do well." He brushed the ruddy hair, feeling the silky texture. 

"_And_ I didn't know." The man smiled. "I had all the faith in the Universe--and all the worry." He enclosed the hand in both of his and stroked the knuckles. The bruise from their altercation on the starship had dwindled to a purplish phantom staining Obi-Wan's skin. 

Another reminder that while those days of intense pain were behind them, they could never be completely gone. 

"It's a wonder that I haven't suffered a stroke or something." He chuckled softly, ignoring the uncomfortable muse. "The tumbles and colds, the sprains and fevers." _And gods, so much worse. _"The healers were probably dumbfounded you lasted through your apprenticeship."

His smile then, for some reason, faded. He lowered himself to the chair. "Sometimes, so was I." He admitted. "You had a way of…instilling such confidence. I trusted you implicitly. And then, a heartbeat later, I was afraid, to the bone, for you." Qui-Gon stared at the hand he still cradled. "Some days I wanted to hold you tight away from the nightmares of Jedi life. I felt so foolish. I reminded myself that you weren't a defenseless youngling who needed such protection." His voice was a cultured, low grate. "But that's the kind of reaction you bring out in me.

"I found that, despite my rationalizations, I needed to protect you. Always."

The fingers began to grip very weakly. He rubbed their length in a gentle attempt to rouse Obi-Wan, massaging down to the slender wrist. "But I failed you. I allowed myself to be singly driven by what the Force had whispered to me. And ever since---" Qui-Gon swallowed a dense lump in his throat. "I've been so conflicted. Naboo was the site of your pain and loss. And I dread remembering that time.

"But in the same instance, I must retain some…I can't call it thankfulness…I don't know what to call it. I just know that Anakin would still be chained by slavery on Tatooine if we weren't the team sent on that mission. I love you more than my life, Obi-Wan.

"And I love Anakin. It breaks my heart, completely, to imagine that boy in that sandblasted hell. I'm glad he has this chance, to be what he's dreamed of, what he's destined for." He caressed the curve of Obi-Wan's cheek. "Does that damn me?" The man asked, words shaking with uncertainty. He felt the creeping pall of horrible conflict overtake his soul. "To love one child, is to lose the love of another?"

Obi-Wan sighed, sheets rustling as he stretched his legs. 

Qui-Gon tucked the blankets in closer. "Maybe, after you're well again, we can all start over. We can get to know each other again. Anakin as well." His tone was injected with forced optimism. "I think he's misunderstood you."

He stared down at the Knight, and his soul swelled. "Everything can be right, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One wet his top lip sleepily. His brows formed a crinkle in his forehead. "…Tired…" He mumbled.

Qui-Gon laid his hand on the forehead. "I know you are. " He remained calm , though inside he was ecstatic about the gradual awakening. "You've done great."

Confusion creased the ivory face, only to clear a beat later. "Sur…Surgery?"

"Yes. It's all done."

Obi-One laid his arm around his head and yawned. "I'm better?"

Qui-Gon could sense the deep exhaustion, the fragile hope. "We won't know that yet. It's too early. The stimulation to your mind can't be rushed."

Obi-One grasped the large hand. "You…won't leave?"

"No. When I leave, you're coming with me, Obi-Wan. Remember?"

"Mmmm…Mmmmhmmm…" He turned onto his side, sightless eyes closed. "I was scared."

Qui-Gon touched his shoulder. "I would've been too."

Obi-Wan nodded against the pillow. "I thought of…what you told me. About the _Twilight Dance_. And the little birds."

The Master grinned, his deep blue eyes shining. "It helped."

"…Yeah." He yawned again. "I even dreamed of it. Standing outside of the ship, the birds chirping behind me. I felt so frightened."

Qui-Gon dropped the hand. "What?"

The shocked tone jarred Obi-One. "I…Didn't you tell me about all of that?"

Qui-Gon felt the fresh spring of tears. "How could I tell you about standing outside the ship, when I was still unconscious?" He reasoned, shaking.

Obi-One sat up. "I…remembered that…on my own?"

Qui-Gon embraced him tightly. "You must've. You must've remembered it, Obi-Wan."

Sobs congested in his chest. "I…r-remembered?" He whispered.

A kiss was pressed against his temple. "Praise the Force." Qui-Gon dissolved into painfully grateful, silent cries. "Praise the Force."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mazella tilted Obi-One's head gently, a scanner hovering inches away from him. She paused to read the results, then breathed out and smiled. "You've recovered incredibly well, Obi-Wan." She commended him.

The Knight smiled in return. In the two days since his surgery, he remained restricted to bed rest, but was mostly alert . He spoke with Qui-Gon about the strange bits of memory that drifted into his blurred mental periphery, listening as the uplifted Master explained their meanings.

There were streams of late night chats, mantras recited in odd, backwards syntax.

Some were echoes of laughter. Female. Soft.

Qui-Gon didn't seem certain of those origins. He cleared his throat and told him that, in time, he would be able to recall the circumstances attached to the teasing remnants.

It was comforting.

But frustrating. 

He wanted a great rush of familiarity. Not this gradual restoration, where wraiths of his past brushed through his mind. Present, yet somehow transparent.

And he knew that, in that way, he resembled them. Obi-Wan didn't feel whole. 

Dr. Gale's warm touch on his arm broke him from the reverie. "Your perseverance has been astounding. Even with such hardship, you were a beautiful presence."

She pulled him into a quick hug.

"Thank you." Obi-One told her hoarsely, her rapid heartbeat against his chest. "I owe you…so much."

Mazella drew back. "You Jedi are certainly selfless. I've been thanked a lot lately--for something YOU'VE done."

Obi-One flushed. "I could never've done it alone." Qui-Gon draped an arm across his shoulders, supporting him, and his belief.

The young alien watched them fondly. " Your memory is reestablishing at a good, healthy pace. They're not coming at an onslaught. I don't fear for your brain suffering an overhaul of any kind."

Qui-Gon braced his bearded, silvery chin with a finger. "So the rest of his memories will return at the same speed as the initial ones?"

Mazella's pale purple eyes were reflective. "Some might be larger, containing more than others. But it could be as long as a year before his past is completely restored. It's a slow, and _very_ delicate, process.

"_But,_ taking into consideration what I've seen so far, I think you're well enough to return to Coruscant."

Obi-One swallowed, his belly fluttering and mind spinning with elation.

__

H-Home.

He gripped the sheet loosely and inhaled.

Mazella squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry I can't stay. This work---it takes me across the galaxy. Shows just how widespread this crime is."

Qui-Gon agreed with a grim nod.

"But my thoughts will be with you both." She promised.

The Master bowed deeply. When he lifted his head, a sheen of tears gleamed on his craggy face. Looking at this miraculous, Force-sent…child, he was overcome with gratitude. "As ours will be with you." His lips ghosted across her hand. "I shall never forget the miracles you've performed for him."

She grinned, a lovely blush appearing on her creamy yellow skin. Mazella dashed her glossy gray and salmon hair back. "All the luck to both of you." She said, on the brink of tears, then all but ran from the room.

Obi-One listened to the departing steps. He sighed as a silence blanketed over the space. The new knowledge was dizzying. _Home…Maybe by the time we reach it, I'll remember it._

Qui-Gon perched on the edge of the bed. He cupped the dimpled chin, wishing the serious lines would be smoothed from the visage. "Things are getting better." He told him simply.

Obi-One stared into the thick void of a black distance. He mustered a smile. "Yeah."

The older man studied the sad composition of Obi-One's face. "I know it must not be so exciting right now. Going back to Coruscant."

Obi-One shook his head, eyes closing. "I'm very happy to be leaving here." He didn't mention the glaring uncertainties that plagued the back of his mind. This Jedi claimed to understand, and he did, to an extent…but some things…no one could really comprehend.

"As am I." Qui-Gon pat his knee. "There are so much waiting for you on Coruscant, Obi-Wan."

But Obi-One remained surrounded in a mixed mist of gloom and withdrawal. Qui-Gon decided that he needed a moment to digest all that had happened.

"I'm going to contact Anakin and let him know we'll be on our way soon."

Obi-One nodded. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon walked into the narrow, empty hall and slipped his commlink from a pocket of his tunic. He stood for a moment, looking unfocused at the seamless steel walls, his face, with muddled, less pronounced features, mirrored in the surface.

He had not anticipated the numbed reaction from Obi-Wan. The brilliant smile he envisioned for the news was, in reality, a weak twitch of lips, purely to benefit the Master. 

Surely Obi-Wan was pleased to be heading for Coruscant.

His hand bent into a fist. He leaned his forehead into it, back propped against a cool wall. _Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?_

But his heart wasn't welling with certainty. _Would I be overly zealous if I were going somewhere I could only be told was my home, when I had no personal sentiment toward the place?_

Qui-Gon huffed, glancing at the closed door to Obi-Wan's room. A pained expression flashed across his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared. 

Tiredly, he thumbed the button programmed to contact Anakin.

A few buzzes pulsed over the connection before the apprentice answered. "Master?"

Qui-Gon brought the device to his mouth. "Ani, how are you?"

The boy's less cultured voice reverberated from the communicator, with a slightly mechanical inflection. "I'm fine. Caught up on some assignments…and stuff."

Qui-Gon smiled with a weary satisfaction. "And stuff?" He chuckled.

A light spurt of laughter. "Well, am I supposed to list every little thing?"

The Master gave an amused grin. "I suppose not. Have you finished your mission report?"

Anakin hesitated. "Almost. " He didn't wait for disapproving emotion through their bond, rushing into an explanation. "Master Espella invited me to spar, and he was so wowed by my fighting that he asked if I could assistant teach a few of his saber classes--"

"Really?" Qui-Gon enthused, curling his lip. 

"Yeah. And everyone always says that he doesn't often, what did they say…'sing the praises' of Padawan sparring techniques. " He added.

"That's wonderful, Padawan. I'm very impressed."

Anakin's pride bled into his words. "_So_, I didn't have the time to complete my report."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Well, I guess an extension would be alright this time. Are you enjoying this new endeavor?"

"Mmhmm. Espella told me I have to tone it down, though, because the students wouldn't be able to follow me at my normal speed."

Qui-Gon had to swallow an objection, as he sensed something less palatable creep into Anakin's voice. "Just remember that everyone learns at their own, individual rate. And no one's perfect."

A fine layer of the youth's heightened esteem dissipated. " I know, Master." He replied more soberly. "Are you returning soon?"

Qui-Gon was almost grateful for the switch of subject. "Actually, that's why I called. Obi-Wan's responded very well to the surgery, and a few of his memories have already returned. The physician okayed his release today."

"Oh. That's good. So you're coming back now?" His interest seemed to lie heavier in the latter.

"I'm letting him recoup for the rest of the day. I think he's a little overwhelmed." His eyes traveled to the small room again. "We'll be leaving for Coruscant tomorrow."

"Great. I've…missed you." Anakin said, embarrassed. 

Qui-Gon smiled. A warmth blossomed in his chest. "I've missed you too, Ani. I'm much looking forward to talking with you when I get there."

"I am too." He agreed in a low timbre. 

"Well, I better go check on Obi-Wan. I'll see you then. Bye, Anakin."

"Bye Master."

Qui-Gon switched off the comm. He crossed his arms and sighed. Gods, but he was exhausted. He, for one, was glad to be leaving for Coruscant.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Obi-One sat against the support of two thin pillows, cushions that should have molded to his form long ago. He had spent most of his waking hours in this bed. Initially, he had been more than worn out, his head aching and heavy, and the solace of a warm mattress was welcomed, needed. 

But his body had gradually replenished and energized. Often, his back throbbed, his skin sweating atop the sheets, and he longed for a workout of his rested muscles. He didn't mention the discomfort, for when he thought about it, the matter became trivial. 

And, a stronger fiber in his reasoning, he didn't want to complain. Qui-Gon remained with him out of the kindness of his heart. Not because he had any real binding obligations. 

Obi-One rubbed the base of his neck and sighed, closing his eyes as the bland, shadowed canvas of his blindness became increasingly depressing. He was hopeful that once the effects of the wipe were reversed, the deep, grinding compulsion to stifle the feelings he deemed unnecessary to voice would subside. 

He was still afraid, despite Qui-Gon's insistences of unwavering dedication, that if he said the wrong thing, stirred an unfavorable feeling in the Master, he would be weighing the generous man down.

More than he already was. 

Qui-Gon wouldn't turn and abandon him here. He knew enough of him to be sure of that. But Obi-One couldn't bear if he was an annoyance, too dissimilar from the man he had once been…too needy.

He massaged the cramped crux of a leg, foot sliding against the cool blankets. _I can just walk around a little.._ Obi-One eased out of the bed, grimacing as the rush of standing went to his head. He ran a hand through his short, thick hair.

The unyielding ice of the tile was more of a shock than he wished to admit. He bent and flexed his toes with an appreciative exhale, feeling the edge of the mattress to guide him. 

The warmth of a beating afternoon sun spilled on his upturned face, and he smiled, taking cautious movements toward it.

His heart thundered in his ears as each step in the gait brought him farther from the security of the bed, deeper into the black sea of mostly undefined space. He expected to trip and fumble, to fall flat on his back and be discovered by Qui-Gon, to be devoured by a fiery chagrin.

So when his fingers met the smooth window pane, Obi-One couldn't help the fresh, genuine grin that split his face. 

Almost reverently, he lifted his hand to press against the glass. Heat thrummed in the surface and seeped into his skin. 

His joyous expression faded to a soft smile. He blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. 

Only a few memories had made themselves known to him. He could feel them in his chest and in his mind, a swirling, scant collection that spread a fine haze. Noises were more prevalent, shouts and laughs and rasping whispers. Once, a howling, sharp cry. 

They came when he was asleep. When the first, after the small, initial details of _The Twilight Dance,_ had occurred, and Obi-One was catapulted to consciousness, Qui-Gon asked him, hesitantly, if it was possibly a dream. 

But dreams were always slightly warped. Rarely, if ever, did they skid across the mind with such crisp precision and emotion.

Qui-Gon urged him to describe the shred of recovered past and Obi-One felt a stab of discouragement, fearing that the Master was skeptical of him.

__

As if he sensed the tremors of doubt, Qui-Gon took his hand. "I want to believe it as much as you do, Obi-Wan."

The honesty wrapped around him like a drift of silk, and Obi-One found he could relax a bit into that. "I don't know how to tell you…I can't exactly see it--"

"Tell me what you know." Qui-Gon responded simply, sitting beside him. "And what you feel."

"A-Alright." Obi-One swallowed. He sank into the recent recollection, letting the surroundings of a yesterday become that of the now. "I'm walking, but not…I'm not walking normally. I'm taking small steps, but it's like they're huge bounds, and there're fingers around mine. Someone's speaking to me, a woman or a girl. I think it's a girl." He paused, trying to maintain the strict focus. 

Qui-Gon stroked his back. "Keep going, Obi-Wan."

He nodded. "And she asks me if it hurts. I laugh and tell her that it hurts like hell," Obi-One paused for a wan flush to rose his cheeks, "But that it's better than not having it at all." 

Qui-Gon's brow scrunched for a moment, then smoothed in knowing. "Bant. You were talking to Bant." 

"Bant?" Obi-One questioned. He clasped his lip between ivory teeth and sorted through the mounds of information the Master had fed him since the memory erasure. "Oh…Bant" He exclaimed quietly. " She's my…"

"Best friend." Qui-Gon supplied, the smile on his face mirrored in his answer. "You two were just about inseparable when you were younger."

"And she's a healer, right?"

The elder Jedi squeezed his shoulder. "Right."

Obi-One was bolstered. He continued with an excited lilt to his cultured voice. "Yes. She's walking me down a hallway, and she had been muttering…Muttering that she didn't know why I couldn't just test it in the hospital's halls."

"Test what?" Qui-Gon wondered.

"My leg. It feels a little tight. My right one." Obi-One explained, frowning as though he could feel remnants of the injury presently. "I stumbled a little, and Bant locked her arm around mine. I told her something…" He waited for the words to rise in his mind, "I told her that she was being too protective. She said that she'd do the same for any patient, then she planted a light, kind of shy kiss on my cheek. I told her that she must be in love with all her patients then."

A smirk jerked at Qui-Gon's lip. 

Obi-One didn't notice the tugging smile on his own mouth. "She started to push me, but then realized my current state, I think, and instead she just punched my arm. She asked how she could ever be in love with someone she'd seen as a chubby four year old, sucking his thumb with one hand and picking his nose with the other."

Qui-Gon laughed heartily at that, pulling Obi-One against his shoulder.

"I replied that she wasn't much better, and reminded her of when…Bruck?" He appeared to mull over the new name, then continued, "When Bruck cut her hair with a training saber."

The Master gave a muffled chuckle that resonated in mid-throat. 

"Was Bruck one of my friends, too?"

And the cheerful mood was temporarily sucked from the room. Qui-Gon teased pieces of auburn, moon-glinted hair through his fingers, gazing into the Naboo night. That was one topic he had completely dodged in his selective stories of Obi-Wan's childhood and apprenticeship. Bruck Chun was a huge pall in his former Padawan's life, an eternal pain that haunted and hated Obi-Wan Kenobi every day, though the youth would never admit to it. 

How could he take the blade of those memories, and wrench it into the tender heart again?

He wouldn't, Qui-Gon decided instantly. Not until it was necessary. And even then, he would do so with great, shuddering reluctance. 

"Not exactly." He responded, believing a lifetime must have passed during his deliberation, though in reality it had been seconds. "Bruck was around the same age as you, but you two never really got along well. He was a very jealous boy, a boy with a lot of demons-- and flaws. He resented the brightness in you."

"Oh." Obi-One accepted with a single nod. Qui-Gon's hand rested on the side of his face, nudging his head against the stalwart, warm chest. "There was a…bad feeling in my stomach after I said it to her, like it had slipped without me thinking. I---was sad after I said it." Careworn fingers trailed along his cheek. "Bant started talking about something else, and while she was talking, my leg started to give out.

"I was falling…until someone caught me. Small, small hands. With…claws?"

And Qui-Gon erupted into laughter once more, huge tears rolling down his face. "Oh, Force, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One smiled with patent confusion, probing fingers tracing the humored lines of Qui-Gon's face. 

Qui-Gon clasped the fingers and kissed them, still chuckling. "Master Yoda?"

"The little alien. The ruler of the Jedi?"

"No, not ruler. Just a very wise member of the Jedi Council. He heads it. And he also happens to be one eighth your size."

Obi-One snorted, covering his mouth with a hand. "What? A tiny little…"

"Troll." Qui-Gon grinned. "The word you're looking for is troll."

Obi-One threw back his head and laughed. "A-A tiny little troll caught me?"

"Yes, well, he also happens to be one of the most powerful Jedi in history…not that it makes it any less funny."

"It definitely doesn't." He agreed, wiping at his watery eyes. "That's all I can remember."

Qui-Gon brought an arm around him. "You were around eighteen then, if I'm correct. You almost lost your leg on a mission. And I almost lost my head trying to grab for you when it happened."

Obi-One was aware of the energized buzz fleeing him, he settled into the parental embrace, content to listen.

"When I finally got you to a hospital, they were overflowing with casualties, and you had to wait." He clenched his eyes shut as the awful visions assaulted him. "I had to watch as others went before you. Patients who were injured, but not as badly as you were. But we were Jedi. The doctor said outright to me that we were involved. The others weren't, and were innocent. They would go first, because they didn't pledge themselves to anything." A swell of old anger crowded his chest. "I held you against me, ripping my tunic off and soaking it in the medicine a nurse passed over to me while she was hurrying to help someone else. You were so limp in my arms. By the time I had fully initiated a healing trance, and had bandaged your leg, you weren't responding to anything anymore."

"The doctors were just going to let me…die?"

"But I wasn't." Qui-Gon comforted, his skin gone cold from the memory. "And eventually, you were brought into the operating room. I knew they did their best, despite my earlier reservations, but there was uncertainty concerning your ability to walk.

"You spent a few months nearly immobile at the Temple--which drove you crazy. Bant was your nurse, and when you took those first, albeit shaky, steps, she ran all the way to the apartment to tell me.

"I was in the shower at the time."

Obi-One laughed softly. "I guess I wasn't the only embarrassed one that day."

Qui-Gon leaned against the wall. "I guess not." 

The conversation dwindled, and Obi-One was weighted by the pull of sleep, hardly able to center.

"Rest. We'll talk some more tomorrow."

And, with that assurance, he slipped to slumber.

Obi-One smiled to himself, his hand dropping from the window.

"I'm glad to see you smile." Qui-Gon said at his shoulder.

He turned toward that masculine voice. "I wanted to feel the sun."

Qui-Gon caressed his cheek briefly, then studied the golden beams streaking from the clear sky. "It can be a wonderful feeling, can't it?"

Obi-One nodded, taking a steady breath. "And I want to feel the sun on Coruscant."

He had never uttered a syllable, but somehow, the Master knew of his misgivings, his buried dread. "You will. But it will be different there--because it'll be home."

And, at that moment, Obi-One knew he was ready to face that return.

__

**Whew. Got through another one! J Hope it's an enjoyable journey for everyone. **


	12. Lost in My Broken Dreams

**__**

Chapter Twelve: Lost in My Broken Dreams

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Anakin wrapped the terrycloth towel around his waist, stepping out of the shower, a bead of hot water running down his leg.

He strode to the mirror and wiped the sheen of gleaming steam from the surface.

His face was then revealed, the glare of the lights above reflecting on his tanned skin. 

He had been told, from a very early age, that he possessed a rare beauty, one that must have been envied by the grimy, often homely children of his home patch on Tatooine, with their coarse hair wound in knots and sunburned faces covered in grit.

Even at the Temple, female initiates, then Padawans, as he grew, paid keen attention to him, watching him from behind thick, lowered lashes. 

He enjoyed the feel of their eyes on him, even hungered for it.

But hardly any of his admirers were worth pursuing.

None of them could hope to rival the sheer magnificence and luminosity of Padme.

To put it frankly, none of them were good enough. 

And yet, he supposed with a sharp, derisive smirk, they suited others just fine. Some could tolerate the dull featured girls, the squat ones and the rail-thin ones, the dry, kinky manes. 

Anakin knew about social classes. They were prevalent on a scourged and sin-laden world, where the gleam of full lips or twinkle of brilliant eyes could mean the difference between hard, back-breaking labor and more comfortable tasks. 

Despite what some would argue, castes were nearly as rampant within the hallowed halls of the Jedi Temple. The physically alluring members could never be classified in the same groups as those with less attractive qualities. 

Anakin also knew he was considerably high on that particular totem. Tall, muscled, with a head of thick, shining, sandy hair. He didn't belong with someone, beyond acquaintance, who didn't meet with his realistic, reasoned standards. 

Which was why Senator Amidala-she of the slender, curved body and radiant smile-fit perfectly at his side.

And specimens such as Mejant Brei were better suited with..

He snorted to himself, grabbing a pair of black leggings from his bureau. As often as he overheard appreciative murmurs lusting over his appearance, he noticed the same admiring comments directed toward Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Anakin wasn't stupid. Didn't delude himself into believing things just to soothe his ego. So he could admit (to himself) that Kenobi could never be described as repulsive or unpleasant…

__

Physically anyway. He thought, raveling a leather sash around his middle. 

There were dozens of girls at the Temple, in his age group, no less, who continued to drool and fantasize over the blinded Knight. Girls he perceived to be half way intelligent, some that he even counted among his friends, were smitten with the man. 

Anakin couldn't deny that Obi-Wan Kenobi possessed charm, and a unique glow, that set him apart from most in the Jedi ranks.

Even he had been surprised by the handsome semblance of Kenobi that fateful day aboard the Naboo starship. His smooth, gold-tinted face and earnest smile. Eyes that shifted colors like an aquamarine jewel.

Anakin had once seen such a treasure, on the slim, delicate finger of a slave trader. Blinding, unmistakable, distinctive.

But that beauty, possessed by a wicked creature, drained the stone of its appeal.

Anakin considered the situation to be much the same with Kenobi. He drew gazes, yes. Yet it was a ruined attraction.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn't the courageous martyr and cunning warrior he was rumored to be. 

That was basic sentiment due to an unfortunate injury. 

In truth, he was someone born to be pushed aside, eternally second-rate. Which was why he was an appropriate match for Mejant. After all, she held only minimal physical attributes. Stubby, as though her growth had been prematurely ended. A round, short face. Eyes so black the pupils were lost in the dark pitch. A nose that should be longer, but wasn't. Her only saving graces were her long raven hair and ample chest.

A passable appearance fine for an average man.

__

It's not like he really cares about what anyone looks like. Anakin chuckled inwardly, slipping on his boots. _At least, not anymore._

It made him wonder why Qui-Gon accepted him as an apprentice in the first place. Anakin had long ago resolved that his Master was meant for things above the ordinary.

__

He was just waiting--for me.

A consoling warmth filled his chest. Anakin knew he was, in every way, superior to the rest of the Jedi. It was prophesized. 

So, naturally, he was above Obi-Wan Kenobi.

__

So why should I dread him coming home like this?

An unsettling question. He wished he had the answer. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon slicked the damp hair back with a comb, parting it in a quick line, then separating the two sides. He stepped back before brushing his hand through the short, ginger locks.

Obi-One remained quiet through the ministration, sightless eyes appearing, as always, like they were transfixed by something in the distance. 

They were beginning the journey to Coruscant this morning, and the Master had known this grooming would be necessary. Although the entire process would feel quite arbitrary to a blind man, it was needed. Qui-Gon was initially worried, but the Knight was already resigned to what was (to him) a fruitless ritual. 

"There. Done." He announced, feeling a trace of awkwardness. 

Obi-One nodded, lifting his hand to feel. He sat on the cot wearing civilian clothes, an ivory shirt tucked into tan leggings with a wide belt encircling his waist and plain brown boots that hugged his calves.

Qui-Gon didn't want to go through the longer process of dressing him in Jedi garb yet, especially when they wouldn't reach the Temple for several days. 

"Maybe you should put on your jacket." He advised, then mentally kicked himself for blurting something so foolish. It wasn't exactly wintertime on Naboo.

Obi-One had the graciousness to smile at the suggestion. "I think I'll be okay."

Qui-Gon touched his arm briefly, then cinched and shouldered his small travel pack. "Well, we're all set." He scanned the sterile, silver hospital setting…and a wave of absolute relief passed through him. 

Obi-One stood, and one of the Master's hands went to his forearm. He took a mouthful of air, slowly. 

"Things are going to become better, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon comforted, heading to the door, leading him with a protective closeness. "And we can put all this behind us."

Obi-One fought the urge to bite down on his lip and nodded. Together, they exited the hospital, and felt the rush of a fresh, clean atmosphere on their faces.

__

Things are going to become better.

Obi-One was beginning to believe it. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon glanced at the serene backdrop of Naboo, sparkling with the dewy vestiges of young morning, lit by the far-off radiance of a mild, warm sun. This place was the closest anyone could come to paradise--but nothing could erase the bitter cracks formed in the seemingly pristine exterior.

For Qui-Gon Jinn, Naboo could never be as beautiful as it previously appeared. If his feet never touched upon the fertile, pliant soil again, he would be content.

Although he was certain his Padawan felt far differently about the subject, as he watched Senator Amidala stride up to him. 

She walked down the hangar, flanked by two guards, a wispy dress of cream loose on her frame, pale ivy-stained bands circling each opening of the sleeveless garment. Long, crimped hair hung free around her petite shoulders. 

When she had reached him, he found that her face was beyond resplendent, cheeks shining and eyes glittering, but still. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye, Master Jinn?" Padme wondered with a slight smile. 

Qui-Gon smiled then too, silently pondering the sudden tender effulgence that clung to her body. And her spirit. "I apologize, Milady. Things have been very--complicated."

She nodded with that kind understanding that could only be displayed by a woman. "I know they have." Her deep brown eyes flickered to catch the attention of her stoic companions. "I'll be fine here. Please wait at the entrance."

With an obedient, stiff nod of their heads, the guards departed, leaving the politician with the Master. 

"I _am_ sorry that I failed to inform you of our leaving, but how did you find out?" Qui-Gon asked.

Padme beamed. "Oh, I have influence."

He chuckled. "You contacted the hospital, then?"

She joined in the friendly laughter. "I was lucky to catch Dr. Gale before she was gone." She paused. "I'm so happy that everything's going to be alright." 

Qui-Gon took a breath, gazing at the feast of greenery and blooms beyond the hangar. "It's been a long time coming." He said, and somehow, the desolation of ten years resounded in his voice. 

Padme frowned, her hand grazing her stomach before she caught herself. "I'm sure Ani's thrilled you're returning."

He sighed, almost taking the good-natured comment as sarcasm. "He's doing well at the Temple, but his training's been a bit sluggish while we've been away."

Padme studied his countenance. "Do you miss him?" 

"Of course." He was puzzled by the intimacy, and underlying irritation, of her inquiry, but knew the source behind it. "Do you miss him?"

And her eyes fell. "He's a good friend."

Qui-Gon only nodded, while memories of the two in more than 'friendly' moods crossed his mind. He didn't enjoy being lied to. Half-truths were little better.

The sound of the lavatory's sink spray turned his attention toward the ship. "Obi-Wan's inside, if you'd like to speak to him."

Padme gave a partially nervous smile, noting the slight strain in the conversation, especially in her belly. "Thanks." She followed him up the ship's ramp.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

It was a different vessel than they had arrived in. Anakin had taken the original when he departed for Coruscant, since there had been no telling when the last two members of the dreaded mission would be returning. 

Padme looked the rather drab interior over, feeling that familiar stir in her heart when she compared her expensive, almost decadent transport conditions to that of the less privileged. It was an embarrassing thought, but there was little to be done about it. She couldn't very well ask to travel, as an influential member of the Republic, in a shabby, rundown ship.

She was pleased to note this was, under closer inspection, a cozy, warm craft, with well-worn furniture and an inviting scent. 

And Qui-Gon Jinn was a chameleon when it came to lodgings, the Senator knew. In a palace dripping in elegance and finery, he was a regal, commanding presence. Here, he was much the same.

Except, he seemed more at home.

Obi-Wan emerged from the fresher, walking a few semi-confident steps before Qui-Gon laid a hand lightly on his back. 

Padme took in the street clothes with a curious inner reaction that didn't bleed into her face or conduct. 

"Senator Amidala has come to say good-bye." Qui-Gon informed the Knight.

Padme moved closer to him. "I'm sorry we haven't been able to talk since…everything, but I want you to know I consider you a dear friend, Obi-Wan." She said softly, allowing a wealth of love to be freed from her soul.

And while the Force had not blessed her with its constant, awing presence, Padme still knew, undeniably knew, that Obi-Wan felt her bared emotion.

Just as he knew, even from behind the permanent veil of his handicap, where her hand hung.

He took the soft palm and fingers gently in hers. 

"Don't be sorry. I probably wouldn't have been very interesting to talk to anyway." Obi-One smiled. 

She saw the sorrow beyond the trademark dry humor, ignored the ache that blossomed in her chest. "Well, I don't think that was the case. I hope you will contact me when you're settled."

Obi-One nodded. "I will." 

"Good." She replied shakily. Padme stood, wordless, for a moment, her veins frozen like streams of ice, and her stomach tight. Abruptly, she launched herself into his arms.

Obi-Wan embraced her, the glossy feel of her hair brushing against his cheek.

"I'll miss you." Padme whispered in his ear. "You've helped me…more than I can say. I could never repay you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One pulled back and drew the lines of her face with the soft pad of his finger. Cool tears met his touch and he frowned. 

She stepped back and dashed the betraying moisture from her porcelain skin. "I have to go. Say hello to Ani for me."

Qui-Gon bowed deeply. "I will, Milady." 

With a last smile, she hurried off the ship, her dress swirling in her haste. 

Qui-Gon waited, then sealed the hatch, a troubled expression written on his leonine features. 

"There's something--sad--in her." Obi-One observed, serious in reflection. 

Qui-Gon helped him to the couch, continuously astounded by the inherent talents of his former Padawan. "I know."

Obi-One rested his head gratefully against the beaten, plush backing. "It must be lonely for her."

The Master stroked his hair, already dried during the walk by the sun and light breeze. "I'm sure it can be. But she's chosen her path.

"We all have to accept what accompanies our decisions." He didn't want the newfound resentment toward the Senator to show in his tone, but he was human, and the threat she (had) posed was disconcerting. 

Obi-One considered the shred of wisdom. "Do you think we have a similar situation when we choose to become Jedi?"

It was a loaded question, to be sure. Qui-Gon sighed, too tired. "That's a long story to explain. We'll have time." He squeezed his knee and stood. "Let's get ready for take-off."

Obi-One pushed the concerns for the woman to the back of his mind, forcing himself to forget the strange aura that surrounded her. "Okay."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

The aged and slightly rickety ship rumbled to life, the great, loud swell of powered engines drowning the series of beeps from the tiny cockpit's control panel. 

Qui-Gon focused on the red haze of the data screens. Once he affirmed that the departure was successful and without danger, he turned to his companion…

And sealed his eyes for a repenting beat, a litany of curses hissed from his mind's mouth. 

Obi-One was sitting, painfully, almost inhumanly rigid, in the co-pilot's chair. His face, so recently flushed with health again, was colorless. 

His hands gripped the armrests in a stranglehold. 

__

How could I have been so stupid and presumptuous? Why would he remember how it feels?

"Relax, Obi-Wan." He intoned gently, moving to cover one pale, clammy hand with his warm fingers. "This is just the way it is during takeoff."

Obi-One swallowed thickly, his head tipping toward the low, assuring voice. "It feels so…strange."

Qui-Gon used his free hand to grip a shoulder. He could remember his first travel upon a ship. The floor's vibrations seemed to rattle in his chest, and he was attentive to every minute sound, sure that the slightest creak meant that the vessel would go into a doomed tailspin.

__

And I wasn't blind. He reminded himself, touch tightening on the stiff shoulder. 

The Master settled in the pilot's seat, swiveling to face Obi-One. "I should've prepared you for this." He lamented, unable to silence his self-deprecation.

Obi-One mustered a weak smile. "You can't warn me about every little thing I've forgotten." He was forced to pause as a wave of nausea passed through his stomach. "Besides---it's not _that_ bad."

Qui-Gon laughed. "It's truly a wonder."

The young Jedi lifted an eyebrow quizzically, gulping again.

"Even now, I can still tell when you're lying to me."

Obi-One flushed, a light chagrin enhanced by the surrounding pallor of his bleached skin. "Rubbish." He denied facetiously, grinning.

Qui-Gon smiled at that. "You're definitely not the first to be unnerved by a takeoff. In fact, sometimes I still get a bit uneasy when the ship starts."

Obi-One, though aware that the honesty of the statement reached only a certain degree before crossing over into providing sheer comfort, was grateful for Qui-Gon's thoughtfulness. 

And while his anxiety didn't drain away totally, it receded to a bearable level. He smiled to himself, feeling an encompassing love transcend his fears.

His memories would come to him, in time.

But for now, there was only what he knew, and what he knew was what Qui-Gon told him.

For now, in the space between Naboo and Coruscant, they had each other.

Until the scraps of his past became the full tapestry, Qui-Gon was the sole resident of Obi-One's heart. The single hope for comfort and humor. 

He knew he would cherish this brief time, even as other dear recollections returned.

The ship suffered a minor quake, but Obi-One discovered he wasn't as cowed by the unfamiliar disruptions. 

Because he had someone who would protect him from it all, who had already shown an incredible reserve of love for him. Who had shown him what it felt like to be a beloved son, before he had the opportunity to understand, or remember, loneliness. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

"Here we go." Qui-Gon announced, the cheerful lilt in his voice calm more than restrained, as he carried two plates into the ship's small main area.

Obi-One smiled. "It smells great."

"Eh." He plopped down beside the Knight, "I'm not very spectacular in the kitchen. You only think that because you've been exposed to hospital food for so long. "

Obi-One chuckled, taking a conservative sip from his tumbler of water, his lips shining moistly. "Probably so--_Are_ you a good cook?"

Qui-Gon, with gentle caution, placed the dish on Obi-Wan's lap. "Taste for yourself."

Obi-One felt a cool, smooth fork handle pressed into his hand. He speared a plump, unnamed morsel and popped it in his mouth.

A round, textured berry with a strong, yet sweetly tangy flavor absorbed his taste buds. He chewed with surprising enthusiasm, then swallowed. "That was fantastic."

A bright, crisp memory came to Qui-Gon then. "You've always enjoyed those. Banji berries."

Obi-One smiled, taking another bite. "Really?" The response was distorted by the explosion of juice in his mouth. 

"Yeah. I remember when we rescued this tiny princess. Barely four years old. She was scared to death of me, and liked you little better. She was crying endlessly. Exhausting herself.

"So you grabbed a banji and somehow, I'll never know for sure how it was accomplished, you balanced it on the _tip of your nose_.

"The girl squealed with laughter. And she had been a merciless critic toward all our efforts before then. For the rest of the mission, she was practically attached to your leg."

Obi-One laughed heartily, wiping a dribble of the fruit's moisture from his dimpled chin. "I'm astounded by my talents." He joked in a dry tone.

Qui-Gon beamed. "Oh yes. Such things must be natural for someone like you."

A brilliance flashed in teal-tinted eyes. Obi-One raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I can still do it?" Child-like delight permeated his elegant, inner-core accent. 

" How should I know?"

And a tacit, but very real, wonderfully ridiculous challenge hung in the ensuing bout of silence. 

Obi-One gulped down some ice water, then held out the glass to Qui-Gon, who set it aside. 

"Alright." The young man began, the first section of the word stretched out in an excited style, near singsong He cracked his knuckles, a rugged grin on his face. "I must prepare."

At that moment, Qui-Gon banished any rumor of his permanent steeliness, by releasing a sound that resembled something strikingly similar to giggling. 

Obi-One plucked a fat berry from the plate, shook off the drip of juice, then positioned it on the edge of his nose, holding it there.

Qui-Gon smirked. "Impressive, Obi-Wan…Are you planning on removing your hand?"

"Of course I am." He snapped. To prove his point, he did just that.

And Qui-Gon shook his head, watching the berry stand perfectly, _maddeningly _still on its unlikely platform. "You've still got it." He conceded.

Obi-Wan laughed breathlessly, and the banji dropped from the unstable perch.

"You better eat that. No food going to waste." Qui-Gon teased. "Now are you going to try the main course, young man, or was that some elaborate show meant to avoid tasting my cooking?"

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Sweat shone on his skin like a high gloss, and Anakin slicked his hands through his hair, the cool, conditioned apartment air hitting the heated body as would a gentle breeze after a fierce and sweltering sandstorm. 

He tossed his dark outer tunic layers and cloak (shed long before) onto the sofa, striding to his bedroom with an energy practically pulsating in his tight calves, tingling in his fingertips.

The Padawan never enjoyed lying to his Master. He liked to believe that, excluding certain personal 'distractions' in their lives, there existed a basic familial trust between them. A deep affection and consecration that could (_and, if needed, WOULD _he added with a smug twitch of his lips) send other seemingly vital relationships spiraling into a pit of obsoleteness. 

Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of his word.

__

To an extent, anyway.

And the most sacred, honored words, the words that bound two souls together in promise of elite tutelage, Qui-Gon had spoken, let spill from his mouth on more than one occasion.

Anakin could remember the earnest, full-fledged faith in Qui-Gon's clear blue eyes. He had memorized the gazes beating with instant, _intrinsic _affection that caused the young boy to believe he had found a father, a noble figure to replace the part of him that had been searching, hoping…

Those recollections became something he could unfailingly rely on. If the very walls of the Temple shook and crumbled around him, if his skills, his place in the Jedi were denounced…even if he had only a tingling of doubt in his mind, Anakin could lean on the knowledge that Qui-Gon had believed in him from the start. 

__

But does he now?

Anakin paused, his eyes hooded as they stared into a blurred distance. 

__

Of course he does. Yes, he does. I haven't changed. I'm still the same---

No. I'm not the same.

I'm better.

The paralysis fled him with the self-revelation, and he sank down on his bed, the activities of the day finally seeping into his bones. He felt as though he could disappear into the soft cradle of the mattress, permit the groggy fog to carry him from the taxing life he led for a few precious hours. 

But, as it often was in times of heavy exhaustion, errant thoughts consumed his brain. 

Padawans were expected to be stridently honest with their Masters. Leave no secrets in the dank area of their minds, places cut off from the training bond. 

__

I'm still allowed to bend the rules a little? I mean, I'm only human right? He reasoned to himself, resting his head in the fold of naked, muscled arms. _And it's harmless, really. I'm not doing anything terrible. He's not around to evaluate my report anyway…_

And the invading bitterness was swallowed down with a thick click and clench of his eyes. _He's coming back. He misses me--he said so._

That was a traitorous comfort, for although Anakin wished to have the most revered place in his Master's heart, being shunned by the man would make it far easier to manipulate the truth. 

In that circumstance, he would never need to feel such guilt.

It wasn't a complete lie. He _was_ assisting Master Espella in the initiate-level classes--but his report had been due before he ever encountered the inquiring teacher. Anakin had every intention of completing the assignment…

__

So it shouldn't be a big deal. No one will ever know.

Just as no one would ever know that his time spent aiding Espella was shorter than he let on. He had a valid excuse for his early departure. He needed to leave the Temple to find a satisfactory comm unit (that couldn't be traced back to him) and contact Padme.

Anakin tossed onto his side, looking at the band of empty space beside him. She had never lain in this bed, never slept between the well-worn sheets with her sweet face placed on his pillow.

He thought of her bedroom. The fresh, floral scent that misted the air and soaked into every thread. Even if she were gone from the elegant space, she left a lasting memory, an aromatic imprint in his desire-crazed mind. 

A lusty churning in his heart. 

__

Why can't there be a way…For all the good things in my life to be able to just exist together. He threw his forearm over his eyes and took a sharp breath. _Without it being seen as betrayal._

Anakin lay in his bed, wanting to be covered in the warmth of the blankets beneath him. Then, knowing the cold consuming him couldn't be satisfied by such simple means, fell to sleep solitary in the apartment, body chilled and disrobed, mind caught in a pain-induced lull…and one hand limp over the bare half of the bed, an expanse that seemed to grow as he further thought of the one that should occupy it. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon took a long drink of his tea, brewed to a deep mahogany color, strong to his taste. Laces of steam drifted up around his chin and nose. The herbal scent soothed his nerves--

Which were on edge this still night in hyperspace.

He sat back against the ship's sole couch, the buzz of silence a wanted companion.

The quiet meant that Obi-Wan was sleeping peacefully in his quarters. 

__

He deserves the rest. Qui-Gon's eyes flickered over to the open door. Obi-Wan ate dinner with eagerness, enjoying the collection of fruits, toast and cheese. He was unable to finish the meal, his appetite having suffered a huge decline during his time at the Naboo hospital. The younger Jedi expressed embarrassed remorse for leaving much of the delicious food untouched, but that worry was quickly vanquished by Qui-Gon, who told him that no one in their right mind would take it as an insult. 

Obi-Wan was eased by the man's assurance.

Qui-Gon was glad for that, but he couldn't deny that he looked forward to a time when his companion wasn't too intimidated to reject food when he'd had his fill. 

It was such a simple action.

And as he sat alone, dark dregs of tea ringing the bottom of his mug, Qui-Gon had to wonder just how many obstacles Obi-Wan faced, big and small, with each day. 

Then, when his memory was restored and he regained his independence, what hurdles would remain for him to clear. 

Qui-Gon rose, walking with subdued steps to the cramped, shadowed bedroom. He stood in the doorframe and watched Obi-Wan sleep, strips of purplish light falling across his face from an adjacent window. 

__

Yes, he deserves this rest.

He lingered a moment more, then strode to the virtually nonexistent kitchen unit to wash out the stained mug, his gaze tainted with concern. 

The Force flexed uneasily. He turned off the rather loud stream from the sink, bringing all his attention inward.

There wasn't an obvious source of the distress. Only emotion, trickling from paper-thin shields, powerful and overwhelming. 

And a muffled sobbing, exterior, so close…

__

Obi-Wan.

He rushed to the room he had so recently vacated, prepared to find the Knight a crumpled, crying mess.

But his frenzied eyes met a figure curled in the center of the bed, hands balled against his jaw, weeping.

Qui-Gon crouched at his side. "Obi-Wan?" He murmured.

Obi-Wan seemed not to hear. He was twisted in the blankets as though helplessly cold, hair in his face and lips quivering.

"Obi-Wan?"

He brushed the ginger drape behind Obi-Wan's ear, and saw tears glossing the dark circles around his closed eyes. 

Obi-Wan was dead asleep. Dead asleep, crying in desolate, soft hitches that knifed through the Master's heart.

Qui-Gon shook his head, laying a large hand on his friend's head. Somehow, he knew he could not halt the flow of misery as surely as he could not erase the image of finding him sprawled across that underground prison floor. 

Naboo had been a place of intense woe for them both, and the only way to overcome it was to allow it to pass through.

So when he felt the spike of tears in his own eyes, Qui-Gon reasoned that it was because they needed to move forward. He settled beside Obi-Wan's bed, taking a limp hand in his. 

"I wish I could save you from feeling this." He whispered. "I wish I knew what you were feeling."

And the Master drifted off, afraid that the memory returned to Obi-Wan that night would be more than a random scene--that instead, it would be a painful truth.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

When his body filled in that position usually reserved for an early sun, and dragged him from the gentle nothingness of slumber, Qui-Gon enjoyed a brief second in which the straining anxieties lay dormant. All that existed during that short, groggy cadence of time was a warm blanket settled over his legs and Obi-Wan's unadulterated Force presence, streaming into the air and salving his scarred heart. 

But the moment couldn't last. The intense whirlwind of days and the grotesque tortures inflicted upon their lives came creeping into his mind, like a serpent with a split, lashing tongue, waiting to strike, to _devour_ this soft makeshift morning with incurable venom.

Qui-Gon could feel the scales raking across his thoughts and he couldn't fight the despair returning within him. It was becoming familiar to him. _Too familiar._

He lifted his head, an ache stretching taut in his neck muscles from a night spent at a spectacularly odd angle, propped against the wall. With a reluctance he was shamed to acknowledge, the Master opened his eyes. 

The small chamber was devoid of light, save the weak amber twinkle of a glow rod in the connected main room. He blinked away the dryness in his readjusting sight, then switched on the lamp with a wave of his hand. 

Obi-Wan's form became better visible, curled on his side a foot from Qui-Gon and turned away from the man, shoulders pressed forward to stave off some imperceptible chill--

Or maybe something far worse.

Qui-Gon could tell without even a shallow access of their bond that he was awake there, lying in a pitiful huddle.

But then, Obi-Wan Kenobi had never been pitiful. Over his lifetime, the youth had evoked great passion and sorrow in others. They mourned for his losses, grieved after his sight was ripped from him, held him with both arms. Never pitied him.

And if they actually _did_ feel shades of sympathy for him, they were mistaken. Because even in the worst, unholy hours, Obi-Wan rose above them all.

Qui-Gon watched the unsteady breathing shake the curved back. _Can he lift himself up from this---whatever this is that he's remembered? Oh Force. What has he remembered? _A shell of painful ice enclosed his soul, a cold fear, as he observed Obi-Wan, and became ever more certain with the silent, passing minutes that he was going to be revealed.

That the phony mask Obi-Wan had obliviously allowed him to don would show the cracks.

And then…and then break away, the betrayer that dwelled beneath shown for what he had been from the beginning. 

__

Betrayer?

It was a strong name, full of unspoken sin and deceit.

Was he really a betrayer, a man who willingly deserted his comrade--partner---son?

Then the face hovered in his vision. The handsome, beloved features tainted by quiet outrage. A swelling anguish suffered in private, but bleeding into cerulean eyes, accusing without a word. Declarations sworn in the fever of bitter haste that seemed to seal the fate of one so gifted,so..

__

Betrayer. Yes. Betrayer. 

He had been certain that was established long ago in his own heart. So it was quite a shock to discover that it had only been assumed. In this instance, he was finally, completely sure of what he was. 

__

What I once_ was-- I'm different now. We're both different. _

He refused to examine the feelings further.

Mostly because he already knew that although he may have changed, the repercussions of his actions had rippled beyond imagination. 

And even he, a seasoned Jedi Master, could not handle such acute guilt, not if it grew to be more than the dull constant it currently was. 

He reached out his hand, letting it rest on Obi-Wan's neck. "Obi-Wan?"

The call came quiet, so it did not startle him. On the contrary, he had known of Qui-Gon's consciousness, in that strange sensation that swept through his mind, that alerted him to so many things, even when he was not prepared to listen. 

Obi-One could not find the energy to roll over. _It's better this way. I don't want him to see--I don't want him to know... _He remained slumped against the bed, cool tears on his cheeks, fresh, hot ones starting in his eyes. "Y-Yes?" He croaked.

Qui-Gon sat up. The young man's emotion, reflected in the Force, was rife with misery. He brushed back Obi-Wan's hair, to catch a glimpse of the concealed eyes. "Obi-Wan, what's the matter?"

He shook his head, hugging himself, trying without success to disappear into the layers of bedding. 

Qui-Gon saw the tears shining and sighed. "Obi-Wan, you must tell me what you've remembered." He thought of Obi-Wan's right to privacy, to keep the restored recollection to himself, then quickly abandoned the notions. "I can help you get through them and understand them."

Obi-One grasped the sheet draped over him as if someone had threatened to steal it from his very hands. "I-I can't understand. Pain. S-So much pain." He nearly choked on the building sobs in his chest.

Qui-Gon forced him from his fetal stance, gripping his upper arms with careful urgency. "Tell me." His stomach twisted, he almost flinched at the apprehension. "Tell me, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One's lips were as hesitant as the rest of his mind and body, quivering. His countenance was painted in pale, sickly colors. "I…" Then he pitched himself forward into Qui-Gon's embrace, his head falling to a massive shoulder, his fingers wildly mapping the lines of the Master's face. 

Qui-Gon cradled him tight, the furious beat of his chest echoing in his ears. _Oh gods no. _He rubbed Obi-Wan's back, slipping his hand under the tunic to warm freezing skin with a light friction. 

After a few minutes, Obi-One tried to pull back, wiping at the copious moisture staining his skin.

But Qui-Gon held him steady. _If this is the last chance I have before--_ _Then I can't let go yet. _"Tell me what's wrong."

Obi-One sniffled. "You--"

__

No no no no no no no no

"Your friend. You loved h-her. _I _loved her a-and…" Obi-One shivered. "She died. You were with her when she died. I was there too. Sh-She was murdered."

It was an ancient, awful pain in Qui-Gon's life. 

But it was new to Obi-Wan. He could not remember the time spent recuperating from the tragedy, because it had taken years. Obi-Wan wasn't given years back. 

Just shreds of yesterdays. 

He kissed the cool forehead. "I know. 

"Tahl was a wonderful woman with a beautiful spirit. I did love her, nearly as much as I loved you. She was my wife."

Obi-One continued to cry into the tunic sleeve, feeling like the child he had been, standing in a shadow, watching his Master's rage ignited, his dreams for love, for happiness, shattered.

"I-I'm sorry she was taken from you." He rasped, when he could again talk, nestled in the solace of Qui-Gon's arms. 

Qui-Gon looked into the distance, engulfed by his memories. 

The shock and fear in the boy he made himself ignore, in order to accomplish what _must_ be done. 

Tears motionless in sea-splashed eyes, halted from natural release by an incredible resolve. 

__

She would've been his Mother.

And, judging from the way Obi-Wan stayed against his chest, weeping with a hand entwined with his, Qui-Gon knew he too was aware.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

The vessel hurdled toward Coruscant, a gray streak in thick, star-scattered space. It had come far in its journey, but was yet to approach its destination. 

There was still time to be spent in the dark pathways, dodging obstacles that floated into its range, that would seek to hinder its progress…even halt it completely.

Qui-Gon stood in the claustrophobic kitchen area, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the small food selection. A few hours had passed since Obi-Wan's heartbreaking remembrance of Tahl, and while the tears had retreated, his eyes remained rimmed with red, enhancing the somber deadness of the cobalt gaze. He was sitting in the tiny common room, statuesque in his frozen state on the sofa, the bright beauty all but gone from his spirit. 

Qui-Gon was swept into the most barren period of his life whenever he looked at Obi-Wan.

__

How he must be suffering.

But at least this wasn't…

He shook his head. _Force, how damned selfish can I be? He's in there, reliving that hell--and here I am, thankful, because it didn't turn out to be what I thought it was…_

The Jedi breathed out, wishing, with amazing irony, that Tahl were here to help him through. _She_ would never be relieved the way he had been. 

She would have--

Qui-Gon stopped, a melancholy sparkle misted with very pale blithe filming his eyes. 

__

She would have done what she always did.

And that was the answer.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Obi-One sat against the cushions of the sofa. Just hours before, they had been soft, yielding. Now they seemed to be slabs of jagged stone beneath him. 

Cold without pliancy.

Existing, but only causing discomfort.

He began to think, as he was surrounded by the rigid piece, that if he didn't move soon, that discomfort would turn to pain.

So why did he stay sitting?

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon reentered the living room grasping two mugs, sitting beside Obi-Wan, leaving little room between them . "Are you thirsty?"

Obi-One felt the warm waft of steam touch his face. He nodded, lifting his hand to accept whatever contents were being offered. 

Qui-Gon guided the fingers, to wrap them around the ceramic handle. "There." He said, just to stave off any approaching silence, just to say _something_.

Obi-One thanked him quietly, then took a sip. The familiar beverage of his convalescence slid into his mouth: tea, mildly strong. But there were other flavors that gave it a distinct punch. Fruit, sprinkles of sugar, even a dash of sweet spices. He took another, longer drink. 

Qui-Gon watched him, smiling. 

Obi-One withdrew. He wiped at his wet lips with a fingertip. "That's very, _very _good."

Qui-Gon swallowed a mouthful himself, then rested a hand on his companion's shoulder. "You've always loved tea this way. Ever since you were a young Padawan---and Tahl would prepare it for you."

This did more than spark Obi-One's interest. "Tahl? Tahl used to make this for me?" He asked, bewildered.

"She did.

"You suffered a pretty serious sprain while sparring with a friend when you were only about fourteen. I was away on a solo mission, and when you were being taken to the healer's, you were calling for me. The pain had left you disoriented, and you were incredibly persistent." The Master explained. "Your friend asked Tahl how they could contact me, so that you could at least speak with me. Tahl reached me, but the connection was cut off too soon, before I could talk to you. So she sat beside you while they cared for your injury, her arm around you and her special blended tea at your lips.

"Ever since that day, she was always bringing it to you when you were sick, or sad, or just looked to be in need of it." Qui-Gon grinned at the memory, eyes sharp with emotion. "I never trusted anyone as much as I trusted her, when it came to your safety." He murmured softly. "She was there when I couldn't be--and I loved her all the more for it."

Obi-One held the mug in his hands, his thirst forgotten, cradling the tea like a delicate treasure. He swallowed a tight mass forming in his throat. 

Qui-Gon studied his face, seeing the struggle behind sightless, ocean-splashed eyes. "Tahl would not want you to despair this way. You mourn her, yes. But don't forget there's more to come for you, Obi-Wan." He slipped his arm around Obi-Wan. "There are many, many good things to be known. About your life. About Tahl."

Obi-One nodded, surrendering without a substantial fight to the tears, throwing all his trust, once more, into the words of this man, his friend-and savior.

Qui-Gon accepted the silently sobbing form, settling against the sofa arm and steadying the mug, bordered by two sets of hands.

The indifferent stone couch melted, softened, as if suddenly aware, as Obi-One was, of the promise of the future. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

The rest of the day was spent in a quiet reflection. Qui-Gon struggled to allow his own memories of Tahl to flow through him without stinging the ever-tender wounds. Flashes of her luminescent smile, skin honeyed and warm, eyes streaked with gold and jade came constantly to him, and more than once he had to suppress a shiver. 

Obi-One sat at the end of the sofa, legs tucked in and a worn quilt around his shoulders. He took an instant liking to the fruit-laced tea, holding it close to his chest, taking deep drinks. Sometimes he would pause after swallowing and his still lips would be touched lightly to the heated ceramic rim.

Qui-Gon wondered where he went at those times. If he was only thinking of Tahl when his eyes took on that glassy glaze. 

In the late afternoon, or what passed as such in this interstellar, dark plane, Qui-Gon rose to freshen the brewed beverage. 

But when he placed his hand on the mug, Obi-One clamped his fingers around it. "No." He whispered. 

Qui-Gon took a step back. He studied the young countenance with worried eyes. "What is it?"

Obi-One inhaled. "I-I think I'm remembering more."

Qui-Gon sat beside him. His heart clenched up. "Can you explain it to me? I mean, if you want to." He added hurriedly.

Obi-One teased a fray of the quilt between his fingers. " I don't know. It's just a lot of bits, shreds of things. Some I really can't explain, they're so random. But--

"One is so vivid I feel like it happened yesterday. I can remember everything about it. Even the pain."

Qui-Gon put a hand on his shoulder. 

"It hurt. I can feel the rock hitting me. The jagged edges ripping my legging. Being driven to the settlement and looking down at the blood dripping from the wound. I was trying to breathe in and think of something else-the mission, and Tahl-but I kept looking back to see you on your swoop behind me. Usually, I would have been embarrassed to glance over my shoulder so many times, but I was dazed and I didn't care. I felt sick."

Qui-Gon moved his hand down to Obi-Wan's back, rubbing it in support. "Yes. You were a little ill after that."

"No--not that way." Obi-One corrected softly. "I was angry with myself. Beyond angry for slowing things down."

"We couldn't have moved on with you injured, Obi-Wan."

And the Knight could detect the subtle change in the masculine voice. From the near-monotone inflection, he wasn't sure he needed to continue. 

He was hearing the truth already. 

"But it was my mistake and carelessness that caused the delay. I could've managed alright for awhile without stopping for the bacta. You should've left me there."

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "It was my duty to protect you above all else. I could never have left you there."

"Of course you couldn't." Obi-One's mouth twitched in a humorless smile. "And then Tahl died."

Qui-Gon looked away. Such a short, clean way to sum up all the bone-deep, heart-wrenching pain, what was truly long and dirty and sullied. The way her pallor had taken on a clammy translucency, the vibrancy drained from her body. Her voice stripped of its lovely, crisp harmony. 

And her presence in the Living Force, snuffed out. Leaving a whole gaping within him. 

He felt a brief burst of selfishness. _Force why does he have to remember this? Why should I have to go through it again?_ And then it was gone, when he glanced back at Obi-Wan's face. A single tear glittered in his azure eye.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon murmured, wiping it with the tip of his finger.

Obi-One pulled away from his touch. "It…It was my fault, wasn't it?" He gripped the quilt, his entire form becoming stiff. 

"NO." The Master answered in an instant. "You were a child."

"And I feel like one." Obi-One said. "I'm thankful for what you've done for me. For taking care of me. And I'm thankful for the operation. Gods, I know how lucky I've been. I could've died. I might not've ever made it as far as I have."

He pursed his lips. "But I'm feeling so much, all at once. I don't---I don't want to be a weepy, weak burden. Right now, even right now, that's what I am."

Qui-Gon crossed his arms, sitting back, giving him room. "You're confused, Obi-Wan. You don't want to be comforted. But you know you need to be, when assaulted by certain memories." He took a breath. "You have a long way to go before you'll be back to your normal life. Holding on to these thoughts isn't going to do you any good." Without hesitance, he embraced him.

Obi-One scrubbed at his face. "I don't want to be like this."

"I know." Qui-Gon whispered. "And you're _not_ a burden. You're a joy of my life, whether you're happy or troubled."

Obi-One broke away and stood. "Thank you. I'm going to lay down for awhile." He started to walk with careful precision toward the bedroom.

"Obi-Wan."

He stopped.

Qui-Gon didn't move from the couch. "You know in your heart it wasn't your fault about Tahl. But what you don't know is that _I_ don't think it was, either."

The young man nodded, shuffling wearily from the common area.

Qui-Gon sighed, very tired himself.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Obi-One entered the small bedroom, fingers trailing along the top of the bureau. He took two cautious steps and cleared the gap between it and the sleep couch, lowering himself to the mattress.

The task was more difficult than usual.

Because he was shaking.

He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled shakily.

The weariness collected over these days was heavy and grinding inside him. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to fall dead away to sleep. Without the haunt of memories he couldn't understand.

Without the pain of those he could.

He sank onto his side and felt the subtle thrumming of the ship's engine beneath him. He still wasn't exactly accustomed to flying. Without sight to ground you, it was like floating aimlessly in dead black.

And, since Qui-Gon was in another room, he was detached _and_ alone. 

That was a cold feeling.

__

It reminds me of… His hand tightened on the pillow. _No. I shouldn't think of that. He said he didn't blame me. He said it. He wouldn't lie to me. I should believe him._

But the calming, soft words the Master spoke were different than those Obi-One could hear in the remnants of his dreams. 

__

"There is no help for me now."

The voice had been frigid, a hollow sound that tried little to masquerade its accusing undertones.

Obi-One could remember the rupture of his spirit. The tears made in it during that mission unable to mend. His soul too vulnerable to protect itself.

__

"You know in your heart it wasn't your fault about Tahl. But what you don't know is that I don't think it was, either."

He was absolutely still. Even the moisture damp in his eyes refused to begin its cascade. _Maybe you don't think it now…But you did. I know you did._

In a while, he had his proof. Obi-One drifted off, piercingly aware that his door remained closed…with Qui-Gon on the other side.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon crossed his arms, staring with narrowed eyes at the rich, dark shifting of space. But although he appeared to study the backdrop sharply, he saw not one glitter-dusted star or burnt orange crater.

He could only find the pair of sky-swept eyes, partially hidden under a pale veil of lashes. Fine hairs moist with tears. A mouth stretched to taut indifference--to paralyze the trembling.

__

I pushed him away. He was just a child and I… His eyes clenched closed, a curse hissed under his breath. _I blamed him._

His fingers tensed and curled into fists. _Oh Gods Tahl, why does this have to be repeated? It took such a damn long time to get on with life. To be able to look at Obi-Wan and not see him as the hindrance that stopped me from saving you. _

Qui-Gon exhaled, pushing a stray strand of hair from his face. He tried to hear her voice within his mind, the soothing, lyrical harmony. But instead, his ears were taunted with echoes.

The tiny, choking words she last uttered.

A healer, somewhere in a hazy distance, telling him she was gone.

Obi-Wan's surprised, strangled cry when he was injured. His apology spoken amid the chaos and his own pain. 

__

The apology I refused to even acknowledge. Because I was so damn single-minded I forgot I had him to think about. I wouldn't let myself be reminded…that he was too young to witness all that. His lungs felt constricted, and he put a hand over his heart. _I was supposed to be the one to protect him. Always protect him._

And he ended up needing to protect himself from ME.

The warmth of the room seemed to be leeched by the wretched memories, but he did nothing to guard against the growing chill. 

__

What he must have gone through. Just a boy. And then a man. Thinking it was his fault. Thinking I thought the same thing…

And I did.

He sat straight up, a stricken look robbing his visage of its pacific grace.

__

Force…sweet Force…I did.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

His rest was uninterrupted. A truly deep respite in which his weary mind and body had eagerly, gratefully wallowed. Obi-One emerged sluggishly from sleep, slipping in and out of consciousness for a few moments before settling in a groggy, half-alert state.

He moaned quietly, groping for the blanket that was kicked off in an unremembered fit during his slumber. A headache that had begun to creep dull tendrils around his temples when he was previously awake now made itself well-known, grasping at his neck and reaching for his shoulders.

A cool palm was pressed with light care upon his forehead.

Obi-One immediately stilled, his hand dropping under his chin. The tight pain receded, the strained areas eased, and the young man swallowed. "Th-Thank you."

Qui-Gon sensed his relief, sitting back in the chair beside the slender bed. "I should teach you how to do that. It's fairly easy. And it certainly comes in handy."

Obi-One didn't reply. He pulled himself upright, rubbing a hand in his hair. 

The Master breathed in. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. Better than I have in.." Obi-One paused, realizing with a tired chagrin that his span of memory wasn't so impressive in the first place. "Awhile."

"Any new dreams that you'd like to talk about?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. "Why do I get the feeling you're not too upset about that?"

His cheeks burned and he started to wrench the thin blanket in his hands.

Qui-Gon watched him. When he spoke, he did so carefully, in an inflection stripped of everything save honesty. "I'm sorry so much of what you'll rediscover will hurt you."

Obi-One turned his head toward the man and quirked his lip. "It's not your fault." He said.

Qui-Gon sat at his side. "Not all of it, no. But what you're going through right now…It's because I was neglectful then."

Obi-One was about to protest, but a finger touched to his lips, and he was silenced. 

"I was too worried _I_ wouldn't be able to heal. So I just blamed you. I threw all the blame at you and convinced myself that's where it belonged." Qui-Gon admitted huskily.

Obi-One stiffened. "But I was the one--"

"No, you weren't. And I knew that all along. But it was hidden under all the false resentment and pain. I was scared. I was angry. It was--It was easier to blame you, Obi-Wan. Can you possibly understand it?"

He nodded.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I let the stupid blame go sometime after. I'm not even sure when. It was a huge weight off me.

"But I never told you. Gods, I was a heartless fool and I didn't tell you."

Obi-One listened to the words, yet he couldn't comprehend the full meaning. _I will, though. When I'm better, I'll know what it felt like. _"I don't want to be angry with you."

Qui-Gon stroked his cheek. "Don't be afraid. I can take that, Obi-Wan. It's your right to be angry."

Abruptly, Obi-One squeezed his hand. "You won't lie to me, will you? If I remember something--difficult, you won't try to glaze over it so I won't get upset?"

__

No. Please no. "Of course I won't. I know you're not weak. But _I_ was scared to say what I felt then. I didn't want to hurt you."

Obi-One smiled. " I think it would hurt more if you kept things from me."

Qui-Gon shuddered inwardly. _I think you're wrong about that._ "I'll be truthful, Obi-Wan. Whatever you want to know--I'll tell you."

Obi-One blinked back the gathering tears. "And I'll be truthful with you. I promise."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

On the third and final day of their journey, Qui-Gon gathered their meager belongings while Obi-Wan showered.

His own materials were few, essential and easily stowed. 

Obi-Wan's rucksack had been mostly untouched since… He fingered the soft, battered travel pack, dark brown but fading to a lighter color in patches. The regulation gear was carried by all Jedi and many sought to mark theirs with some kind of individuality. A simple embroidery, perhaps initials deeply sketched into the corner. In his younger years, Qui-Gon differentiated his with a glinting gold, star-shaped pin. He later recognized the foolishness of the thing and banished it to an unseen place--the inside lining of his pack.

But Obi-Wan never saw the need to improve the bland brown cloth. It was slung, plain, over a shoulder. And to be attached to such a wonderful carrier, Qui-Gon mused, was quite enough to give it sufficient contrast from the others. 

Still, the Master had, now and then, debated whether he should pass on his own outgrown ornament to his apprentice. He would always reject the idea in the end.

As he did on this occasion, tossing his pack aside and removing a spare tunic and leggings from Obi-Wan's. He gave the clothes a brisk airing, then laid them out on the sofa.

Obi-Wan had been dressed in civilian attire after being discharged from the hospital, wearing a loose cream top and beige bottoms. They _were_ similar to Jedi uniform, but must have felt far different. Qui-Gon hadn't believed it necessary to go through the process of instructing him how to wrap the tunic layers, when they would be restricted to the ship for several days.

With their humble vessel quickly approaching Coruscant, it was time to teach him. 

The spray of the shower was shut off and a few minutes later Qui-Gon heard the padding of feet against the carpet in the next room. 

He grabbed the earth-toned garments and stood at the door. "Obi-Wan? I have some clothes for you."

"Okay."

The door slid open and Qui-Gon entered. "Everything's ready to go."

Obi-One sighed. "That's good. It'll be nice to be on solid ground again."

Qui-Gon chuckled, reminded of his counterpart's rather infamous fear of flight. "Definitely.

"And since we'll be landing at the Temple, I thought it would be best if you wore the traditional Jedi clothing."

The Knight smiled. "Alright." He replied, with near-reverence.

Qui-Gon spent the next few minutes explaining how to secure the bands around his middle, then guided his hands to complete the twining.

  
"It's a little tricky." He said, when Obi-Wan fumbled. "You can imagine how it is for the initiates."

He was rewarded with a quiet laugh. "I have to wonder why the Jedi wouldn't choose a simpler outfit."

Qui-Gon handed him the worn, tan pants. "One of the Order's great mysteries, I suppose."

Obi-One snorted softly.

Qui-Gon stepped back, taking in the sight of him, his Padawan, clad in familiarity, the gentle shades bringing a new vibrancy to his eyes and his gingery hair. With each passing moment, he was moving beyond that frightened, pale form in the hospital gown, resuming his life as the strong Jedi he was meant to be.

Obi-One ran his hands down his sides. "Feels better this way."

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "That's because it feels right, Obi-Wan." He ruffled the damp mane. _Because it is right._

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Anakin glanced at the closed door, channeling his impatience into a hard compression of his lips, watching as another passerby dwindled into the distance.

The hallway was a sleek, opulent display. Chancellor Palpatine preferred rich, dark colors, and his offices were decked in layers of deep violet, black and twilight blue, blood red. The man had carefully chosen the palate, so that the selections would meld well with his normal attire.

And he fit so perfectly in the color scheme that any outsider who entered the chambers would feel just a tad misplaced.

The boy's theory rang abundantly true when the door finally opened, revealing the guest that had caused this wait. She was a slender woman wearing a silken gown of bleached lavender, gathered slightly at the waist to enhance her slim middle. Citrus eyes raked over Anakin as she exited the Chancellor's main business suite, and flashed a grin that crossed from flirtatious to sensual.

He was never too surprised when shown such female attentions, and he tipped his head in response, a sly smile beguiling the blonde woman--since he had no intention of pursuing her beyond this brief encounter.

From his shallow touch upon her Force presence, weak as it was, he could decipher she carried more weight in certain areas beneath her dress than in her head. 

Despite her witlessness, she seemed to understand his disinterest, and with a shyer smile, separated for the lift.

It was then that Palpatine emerged to greet his next appointment.

Anakin straightened, noticing as he followed the politician into the room that his own tunics and leggings matched fine with the shadowy hues of the chamber. Even the striking contrast of his black boot against the scarlet carpeting was attractive.

"It's been quite awhile since we last were able to meet, young Skywalker." Palpatine commented in his unfailingly, but not exactly unpleasantly, hoarse voice. "I must say I've missed our talks. They always prove very refreshing."

Anakin smiled, pride swelling in his chest. "I'm very glad to be here, sir."

Palpatine curled his lips, then folded his hands behind his back, strolling languidly to the large window behind his desk. "I haven't spoken with you since your return from Naboo. I would've liked to have been more involved in the problems there, it being my home planet, but I'm always so busied here."

Anakin came to stand near him. He looked out into the bright cityscape with hooded eyes. "Everything---Everything worked out. The people behind the kidnappings were caught and--"

"No, I'm quite aware of all that." The Chancellor interrupted, with a chuckle. "I'd like to hear of _your_ experiences on Naboo."

Anakin shrugged. "It was another mission."

But Palpatine knew him too well for a base answer to be permitted. His blanched eyes, surrounded by loose, ashen skin, stared keenly at the apprentice. 

Anakin felt an instant kinship with cellophane, unable to mask himself from the man's perceptions.

"A mission of mixed blessings, I'd say." Palpatine observed knowingly.

Anakin blew out a breath. "You're right about that, sir."

"Well, I haven't forgotten our previous talk. Unless Kenobi suddenly sprouted a brain and a spine since then, I'm sure you encountered some trouble."

He tried to force some sympathy in his response, false emotion he had created and embellished since the Knight's mind wipe. "Except for a few instances, we were hardly made to interact. I was usually with Padme."

Palpatine smiled, fine lines streaking from his eyes. "That must've been a welcome substitute."

"She was as wonderful as I remembered." Anakin affirmed wistfully. 

The older man prodded him then, returning the focus to the negative topic of Kenobi, and adding to the Padawan's gloom with a mention of a particularly sore subject. "So I gather that your Master spent much of his time with his old protégé, eh?"

Anakin tensed. "Kenobi was sick."

"I'm not startled by _that._" Palpatine retorted. "Seems he's always ailing. Collecting pity where he can get it."

A rush of sweet relief swept through the youth. "I'm glad someone can see him for what he really is. Or was, I guess."

"Ah, yes, he was one of the last victims, wasn't he? Another unsurprising bit, that he'd allow himself to be captured."

"Then rescued by my Master." Anakin grumbled. "Master hasn't left his side since then. I was even sent back to Coruscant while he stayed with Kenobi. He had surgery to reverse the wipe."

"Hm. At the very least you were given a break from the imbecile. Do you know if it was successful?"

"Master says it was. They're supposed to be back today."

Palpatine peered at him. "And how do you feel about that?" He asked gently.

Anakin studied the thin scatter of clouds, bland in the sky. "I'm glad Qui-Gon'll be back. Things aren't the same without him." He walked away from the window. "I don't think they'll ever be the same now."

A hand rested on his shoulder. "I believe you have the power to prevent Kenobi from ruling your lives, Anakin." Palpatine held his gaze. "You're certainly strong enough. And you have another advantage.

"_You _are the pledged apprentice of Qui-Gon Jinn. He has obligations to you, current ones, that surpass any he has to Kenobi. That's how the Council will see it.

"And it would be easy enough to make Kenobi feel alienated. Especially in his current state. How much dedication can he have to your Master, without his memory? If you push the right buttons, at the right time, you can take back what's yours."

Anakin's gratitude shined in his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, sir." He bowed. "Thank you."

The Chancellor could hardly contain his pleasure. "And thank you."

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mejant stood at the wide entrance to the hangar, caught between the comforts and assurances of the Temple behind her, and the acute pain that surely awaited her when she stepped through the threshold. 

She had days to agonize over her man's condition, during which her insides remained in a tightly twisted knot and her nerves hopelessly on edge. Every moment she expected the communicator to buzz, like a grim, cracked bell at a funeral procession, and Master Jinn's voice would answer, informing her that he was sorry, terribly sorry--

But no such call came. She was not given any news of Obi-Wan, left to teach and spar and eat and attempt to sleep, a murky swelled cloud over her.

She prayed the rain would never descend, and spent long, shuddering nights sitting beside holos that captured the handsome visage.

Ebony eyes stared at the slick reflective flooring, remembering the countless times she had stood in this very spot, waiting for Obi-Wan's return. 

Smiling faintly, Mejant imagined the roguish grin he would flash, and the surrounding area would, somehow, seem all the more incandescent, as he strode to her, his hair a bit unkempt, small shadows beneath his eyes, but full of vivacity.

__

"So when did the Council decide us returning Jedi needed an escort?" He would tease. 

She would counter with a smile. _"Maybe they were worried you bonked your head one too many times, during one of your infamous spurts of adventurous spirit, and forgot where to go."_

Mejant could almost taste his lips, ghosting past hers in a chaste kiss, both of them mindful of his Master, or her Master, nearby. 

__

"You always treat me so cruel, woman. But you know you lust after me like a bantha in--"

"Obi-Wan! She would gasp in amused exasperation, pushing him. _"How dare you offend my honor…Besides, you give yourself a lot of credit."_

His laugh was always deep, a melody carried through the spanning Temple bay. 

The Knight leaned against the wall, raven hair falling around her face. So many outside elements were intermixed with their relationship, duties and liability, their own personal morals. 

She loved him more than she could love another being in the Universe, and Mejant never denied that, cherishing the shared emotion between them. 

But there were some lines that they could never cross, no matter what serenity and satisfaction they could possess after the journey. 

Yet, deep within her, Mejant had been certain that once they fulfilled their promises to the Order, they would have the chance to fulfill the promises made to each other.

__

We can. We still can.

Qui-Gon told her, at last, two days before that he and Obi-Wan were heading back to Coruscant and the operation was deemed effective. It was a wonderful assuagement, but until she could see, touch, hold him…Her dark doubts remained.

__

Even if this doesn't work out…I'll be with you, my Obi. I've lived too long with you in my life.

I'd never be able to go on without you.

The small vessel was now in sight, and Mejant swallowed, then stepped through the door. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

The ship came to a steady, gradual halt.

Obi-One had secretly been preparing for the moment, but his stomach churned just the same, despite the calming rituals he practiced in his head. 

Qui-Gon's hand, now a familiar comfort, fell to his back. "You've already conquered your greatest obstacles, Obi-Wan. And you've never had anything to fear here."

Obi-One inhaled, gripping the thin strap of his travel bag. His heart thundered and he could barely hear his own words. "Remember our agreement." He murmured, a curtain of sun-kissed ginger concealing his eyes. "Don't lie to me. Don't spare me."

Qui-Gon stroked the hair out of his face. "This is your home. And for better or worse, no one needs to fear coming home."

Obi-One smiled, his fingers remaining taut around the strap. "Have I always been this serious?"

The Master laughed. "I prefer to think of it as 'focused'."

A soft chuckle, then, "Where will I stay?"

Qui-Gon led him slowly toward the exit. "Well, I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure the healers will want to take a look at you. Remember Bant?"

A nervous grin crossed his face. "Yes. My friend." A flutter of excitement was buoyant in his voice, as he felt bits of previously recovered memory surface. "She's…She's a little younger than me, right?"

Qui-Gon clapped his shoulder. "That's right. And she's an incredibly gifted healer who always…somehow…manages to be assigned to you."

Obi-One grinned. 

They began their walk down the ramp, and the Knight attempted to rid himself of anxiety by centering on the hollow sound of their steps against the textured steel. _Oh gods…Oh gods..this is it._

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Replies are always deeply appreciated. J I hope the story is enjoyable for anyone whose reading. -LuvEwan


	13. The Trials of the Present

Don't know how many people have stuck around this far…It's been about a year since I started this…But I just wanted to say how much I appreciate those who read and review. It gives me so much joy to hear what others think about my ideas and how I've written them out. Thanks. -LuvEwan

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

**__**

Chapter Thirteen: The Trials of the Present

Once in a while

I slip back to my past

Where I long to remain

But the dream does not last

In the trials of the present

No matter how low

You bring me such peace

And you won't let me go…

Oh don't let me go. - Hans Zimmer/Gavin Greenaway

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mejant's breath caught in her throat.

The figure descending the ramp was surely Obi-Wan--the sleek auburn hair and glittering eyes proved that--but his body had become gaunt during his time away. He had always been compact and slender, yet there was a defined physique that ebbed any notion of weakness. 

His tunic layers were tied snugly around his midsection, drawing her focus to the loss of both weight and muscle mass. Her heart contracted. _Force, Obi, what have you been through? _

Obi-Wan's fingers rested lightly on his former Master's forearm, to guide him, and her uneasiness increased, recalling the frequent occasions when he would protest such aid.

She took a few steps forward. _But he's here. He's here and he's safe. Master Jinn told me it would be a gradual process…_

Qui-Gon glanced at the female Knight, then moved his gaze to Obi-Wan. "Obi-Wan, someone's here to meet you."

Obi-One's hand was clammy against his skin. "Do I…Do I remember them?"

Qui-Gon sent a pale wave of Force-laced reassurance to him. "That I can't say. Maybe through the bits and pieces, you have."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, as Obi-One felt a strange stir in his heart, in his mind. It consumed him, a presence that was fresh today, but he could recognize as something that resided within him from the start. A hidden flame during bitter freeze, the shroud suddenly torn away.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon braced his shoulders briefly, "This is Mejant Brei."

Mejant's chocolate eyes were wide and swimming in tears. _He had to introduce us. _She stared at the face, caressing the features without a touch.

She gasped, embracing him, pulling him tight against her.

"Oh Obi-Wan. Oh sweet force Obi-Wan." Moisture ran down her cheeks. She grasped the back of his head with small, trembling hands.

Obi-One felt a divine instinct rush through his body, and he wrapped his arms around the warm, slight form. 

Memories came hurdling into his consciousness. Laughter and kisses, errant shreds of a fight and full remembrance of the easy forgiveness that came after. 

__

"I love you, Obi-Wan."

"I love you…"

"I love you." Mejant murmured against his neck with an accompanying swirl of hot breath. 

Obi-One's lips quivered. "I love you." He combed his fingers through long silk hair, then traced down her arms and moved back up to frame her face, tears flooding his eyes all the while. 

Mejant struggled to swallow. "O-Obi-Wan?"

An overwhelmed smile. "Mejant."

The name became a lyric softly voiced, and she knew they weren't strangers.

Because out of every name in existence, hers was the only to be spoken with that harmonious, silvery affection.

"I remember you." He told her hoarsely. "I hear you in my dreams. I hear you in my dreams and wake wanting you to be there--"

Mejant hugged him again, pressing her lips to his immediately pliant mouth.

He kissed her back with the passion of days spent in an awful twilight.

Obi-One had known there was a glow somewhere inside him--he was just unable to see it.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Anakin stood outside the comm booth, his arms crossed against the sleek, black leather tunic, impatience thrumming near his surface.

The lower levels of Coruscant were polluted with every kind of degenerate in existence. Crooked peddlers, prostitutes, slobs and general low-lives. They clogged the streets, left the air stagnant and smelling permanently of stale smoke. Rail-thin women tipping a shoulder, so that the twisted strap of their dress fell to a more sultry position. Stubby old men ambling along, their hollow, dark eyes taking turns between staring at the flagrant, stimulating displays and the familiar comfort of a green-tinted glass bottle. 

Children tugging at their mother's raggedy skirt, throwing up their arms wearily, so that maybe they could rest for awhile in hers.

His gaze softened as he watched a tiny girl with dirty, golden pigtails reach for a plump muja fruit, balanced at the edge of a selling cart.

With a nonchalant flick of his hand, the desired morsel toppled into her waiting hands.

He watched her expression of pure, innocent delight, and for a moment was transported to Tatooine again, remembering the burst of cool juice in his parched mouth, wiping the moisture from his chin with a swipe of a grubby forearm. 

Smiling faintly, he turned back to the occupied booth.

A young man was inside, leaning against one of the transparent walls, talking to someone, a smirk on his face.

Anakin breathed out heavily through his nostrils. _Oh come on…_ He studied the tattered clothing and crooked expression. _Who would want to talk to YOU for so long in the first place? _

Disdain passing over his visage, he waved his hand once more. "I have to go now." He murmured.

And was echoed promptly by the other man, who proceeded to end his lengthy conversation with rude, involuntary abruptness. 

He walked out with a mist of confusion present in his eyes.

Anakin snorted, closing himself into the tall cubicle. He entered a long series of digits and then waited for a response.

His stomach churned. _Every time. _

A delicate voice answered. "Hello?" Less than a beat later, "Ani?"

Anakin grinned widely, his chest tight. "Yeah, it's me. How are you?"

"I'm…I'm doing the best I can. It's hard to be so far from you."

He grew somber, as the exhilaration of hearing her voice ebbed, and the reality of their situation donned. "I know. Some days I can hardly stand it." The Padawan gazed out, imaging the supple perfection of Naboo in place of smog and murky skies. "Some days I wish I could just…go to you."

Her own longing was palpable. "I wish it too." Padme assured him, and her very tone was soothing. "But…"

"I know." Anakin interrupted. "Gods, I know."

A thick silence spread across the connection, then "My Master is finally arriving today."

"That's wonderful, Ani. I know how much you've missed him."

Anakin sealed his eyes. "It's bad enough just trying to survive without you. Being at the Temple without him…I liked the independence…"

"But not the loneliness." She supplied, able to sense the direction of his thoughts easier as time wore on. "That's understandable. I mean, without Dorme to keep me company, I'd probably go crazy here. Sometimes I think I'm crazy to stay."

"Then I guess we're both insane." He teased with a bittersweet smile. 

She chuckled lightly. "One of the many things we have in common…No wonder I love you so much."

"I love you too."

Padme hesitated, torn between speaking the words burning on her lips and remaining on safer ground. "Did Qui-Gon tell you anything about Obi-Wan's condition? I've been worried about him."

Anakin sighed. _Of course._ "Master says he's fine."

"…Oh. Well…Did everything work out okay? I've only heard a basic report, that the surgery seemed successful."

__

Then why do you need to know more? "Qui-Gon told me he's getting some of his memories back already."

"Already? I'm so relieved."

And Anakin could tell that she was. His jaw set. "I have to get back. Master should be there by now."

"Okay." Padme's voice lowered. "I love you, Ani."

He swallowed his irritation, focusing on the passion that still existed between them ,despite the separating parsecs. "I love you. I miss you, Padme. I'll talk to you again as soon as I can."

"I know you will. Bye."

"Bye." 

Anakin stood in the booth, his eyes closed.

__

" If you push the right buttons, at the right time, you can take back what's yours."

"What's mine." He mumbled absently.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon watched them, arms entwined and weepy eyes sealed. She was forced to stand on tip-toe, he leaned slightly downward out of instinct.

The aura surrounding them was laced with deep, veritable affection, a warmth that radiated from the reunited pair in a soft kaleidoscope of color. Faded rose and ivory, threads of yellow. 

It was a beautiful sight within the Force, and not even the most gifted Jedi could permeate the tender web hovering around the Knights. 

Qui-Gon thought that perhaps he should step into the corridor, but found himself entranced by the pure happiness echoing from their hearts. A healthy flush imbued Obi-Wan's face, and the Master was contented by the absence of his usual sickly-white pallor. His strength, too, seemed more rejuvenated. He held to Mejant with trembling tautness, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The events of Naboo felt as though they were imbedded far in the past, for one who was so recently receiving tender comfort could not possibly be providing it so soon.

Obi-Wan's hands slicked through her glossy black hair, his breaths coming in steady pants, overwhelmed. 

Qui-Gon decided that now he must turn from them, and he walked into the hallway.

He stood there, realizing that sometimes life truly did come full circle.

As a Master, he taught Obi-Wan the ways of the Force and the world, nurturing him and protecting him, until the Padawan began his own, independent journey. 

Now, he was aware this new cycle was nearly complete.

Obi-Wan would recover. Obi-Wan would leave him. 

Blinking away the ridiculous sheen of moisture over his eyes, Qui-Gon was startled at the smile that broke onto his face.

__

But it isn't exactly the same, is it?

No. 

Because this time, I'll still be here when he needs me.

The all-too-familiar guilt roiled in his belly, the stench of burnt flesh rising in memory, rising to his senses. _IF he needs me. _

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

With a shivery, painful reluctance, Mejant broke from the kiss, her moist lips quaking. 

She could see that Obi-Wan didn't understand the abrupt separation. His hands lingered on her shoulders and a crease appeared between his brows. "Why…?"

Little more than a confused gasp, and it took all the control within her not to return to the solace and serenity of his arms. She rested slender fingers against his cheek.

He leaned into the warm touch, breathing in her scent and sinking again into the simplistic, but utterly deep, level of love, as his own breath seemed to be stifled by the sheer intensity of it.

Mejant trailed her fingers from his face to his hair. "Obi-Wan." She prompted tenderly, reveling in the silkiness of each auburn and sun-kissed strand. "Obi-Wan, you should go to the healers now. They'll…They'll want to look you over."

"But.." His sightless eyes still spoke resounding volumes of pain and weary longing. Shattered jewel, glinting in the harsh light. "I feel like it's been a lifetime since we've been together."

__

You're not the only one. "I know. But once you're evaluated by the healers, you can go home. Back to your quarters. Where your _life_ is. Where most of the memories are."

He flinched at that, but his countenance quickly smoothed. He squeezed her hands. "You'll--be with me?"

She pulled him into an embrace, her face tilted against his neck. "_Yes._"

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Bant braced her hands around the data pad, glancing over the opened file for approximately the thousandth time, pacing in a small circle.

She wanted to have been there to greet him, but knew Mejant could provide comfort she, even after decades of friendship, couldn't. 

That would have had the potential to cause a flare of jealousy within the Mon Calamarian healer earlier in her life, when a mixture of hormones and misplaced emotion left her mooning over Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

She was mature enough (_now, _she added with an inward smile) to admit she wasn't too fond of Mejant Brei then. To be frank, she was wary of any female that stepped within five feet of her closest companion. 

But thankfully that flirt with adolescent infatuation receded, and Bant could comprehend the genuine connection between Obi-Wan and Mejant. And although she briefly battled the idea of another person taking up such vital residence in his heart, her own romantic soft spot won her over.

Everyone had their role in Obi-Wan's life. 

She was more than content to accept hers.

Bant sighed, looking pensively at the door. She hoped that Mejant would be strong enough to stand beside him through the difficult transitions ahead, while allowing him to take the journey on his own feet.

As much as she hated it, Bant knew Obi-Wan couldn't be sheltered from the tempests this recovery would create, the fierce winds that would threaten to throw him off course, the downpours that could blur his path.

She sealed her pale eyes. _Force._

Let this be the last hurdle for him.

The powerful entity didn't respond, and the healer could do nothing but wait for his arrival, gooseflesh risen on her salmon skin. 

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mejant entwined her hand with Obi-Wan's as they walked, caressing the pads of his fingers as though she too had no memory of the softness of their united touch.

Obi-Wan had been silent since they began the journey to the healers, and she often stole glances at Master Jinn, who walked on the opposite side of his former Padawan, but a step behind.

There was a heavy look in Qui-Gon's eyes; she offered him a warm, close-mouthed smile.

Qui-Gon smiled in return, but though the expression wasn't exactly forced, there was a patent sadness in it. 

"Amazing." Obi-One murmured through barely parted lips.

Mejant was drawn back to him. "What, Obi-Wan?"

He only shook his head.

She ran her hand quickly down his back, still trying to control the sharp, all-encompassing rapture of the day, the sweet return of balance and assurance in her heart. 

She could remember her early trips through the Temple, as a chubby child with a slip of fly-away hair, enthralled by everything and unaware of anyone that dare invade her circle of awe.

Obi-Wan was feeling the largest gathering of Force-users in the galaxy, concentrated into a relatively small space, for what he believed to be the first time.

__

I'm lucky he even realizes I'm around right now. She thought with a smirk.

Master Jinn was just as speechless as Obi-Wan, but for different reasons, Mejant surmised, watching the man's troubled gaze, so steadfast on their companion. 

He was unable to move his eyes from Obi-Wan, it seemed. He took in every moment of the Knight's reaction, saw every precious second unblinking…

Drinking it in, as though preparing for a time of long, barren drought.

Mejant frowned, a tiny edge of melancholy trespassing her blissful mood.

Soon, they were at the hospital ward doors, greeted by Bant's flushed and overjoyed face.

She walked up to the trio with obvious reveling. "Force, I thought you'd never get here." The healer said, her bashful ways abandoned in favor of unbridled happiness, a grin splitting her small, lovely face. "I couldn't even wait in my office anymore…I…"

Her eyes stopped on Obi-Wan, and so her words simultaneously halted. "Obi." The gasp was whispery. She wrapped her arms around him, not waiting for his response.

He gripped her tightly, burying his face in her neck. "Don't think I don't remember you." Obi-One intoned against her smooth neck. "You're my best friend."

Bant pulled back, tears creating a shiny sheen on her cheeks. She stroked his face. "Yes, Obi. Thank the Force." 

They embraced again.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Bant perused the chart while Obi-Wan settled on the examination table, Mejant steady at his side. 

"Everything looks to be in order here. It says here you were quite ill leading up to the…incident, and for awhile afterward, but from what I've gathered you're mostly healthy now." She explained, patting his shoulder. "Of course, we couldn't let you leave here without a series of tests--That would just take all the fun out of it."

Obi-One chuckled softly. He felt a minor blush heat in his cheeks, and found himself wishing, once more, for a more comfortable familiarity among…well, everyone. It seemed he was constantly self-conscious, aware of eyes he couldn't see trained on him. 

Bant looked thankful for his positive reaction, taking in a peaceful breath before turning to Qui-Gon. "Is there anything you'd like to add concerning his condition, Master?"

His eyes moved regretfully from the patient to the healer. Bant's eyes were crisp, clear, as fresh as the other occupants of the room. 

Suddenly, he knew he was woefully out of place. An old man with a grayed mane, standing with young Knights, a relic of another generation, trying to grasp to an era long since passed. 

It was time they all move beyond the pain of yesterday's wounds.

Tomorrow would be another day, and when he forced himself to look beyond, he saw that it was ripe with possibility. _Ani._

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "I can only say that Obi-Wan has handled his transitions wonderfully. He has a strength that none of us can comprehend." He stopped in front of Obi-Wan and laid a calm hand on his arm. "He'll overcome all that's thrown at him--and it will be because of his good heart and powerful soul.

"I have no doubt."

Obi-One blushed a deep color. A lump was dense in his throat, formed of overwhelming gratitude, relief…And if there were any other emotions, some less jovial and not as sweetened by sentiment, they paled beside the rest. Something was changing, with every moment he could sense it a bit more.

Qui-Gon Jinn was going to return to the normalcy of his life. 

They had both spent weeks lost in a different time, exploring events that had shaped the present, examining and reliving them.

But reality had been waiting patiently all the while. It wouldn't do so anymore. 

Obi-One smiled, his eyes only dully lit by the expression. "I don't know where I'd be…" 

Qui-Gon's rather stoic demeanor faded as he embraced his ex-apprentice, taking in his presence with sharp attention to every facet. "We agreed to be honest with one another." He said. "So I wasn't lying when I said you've done this for yourself. _Never _underestimate your strength, Obi-Wan." Pulling marginally back, he pressed their foreheads together. His words were hushed, meant for the other, and none else. "I…" It pained him more than he could even comprehend to speak a meager shred of the shame within him, but he knew it must be done. 

He _had _to at least give a small warning.

__

I owe him that much.

I owe him everything.

"I want you to remember that when all else feels as though its crumbling, when you believe you're alone…It can be enough. Alone, you _can_ go on. You're the strongest man I've known, Obi-Wan, and you _can_ survive. You must rely on yourself, my Padawan. Never forfeit, never give in. You're better than that." He leaned in, speaking more quietly still, his breath brushing over the Knight's ear. "You're better than all of us. "

Obi-One opened his mouth in characteristically humble protest, but Qui-Gon didn't allow it. 

"Don't argue this. _Don't _let uncertainty enter your mind." _Don't put your faith in others. _

How he wanted to say that…but he couldn't. 

Obi-One shook his head. "I'm not going to pretend you weren't there for me."

"I don't want you to." Qui-Gon replied emphatically. "But I don't want you to believe it was I who saved you. I was comfort-you were strength." His hand smoothed over the edges of the ginger hair. "And strength is what's needed to survive."

Obi-One laid his fingers against the leonine face, tracing each feature and line, etching the composition into his heart with delicate, painstaking precision. "I'm glad we had the chance to reconnect."

"Me too."

And Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan had figured it out. It wasn't a complicated situation, really. Things had to move forward again.

Qui-Gon had a new purpose, and now that old mistakes were (partly) righted, he could reassume his place. As Anakin's Master. As the Chosen One's mentor. 

And Obi-Wan's friend.

He laid a gentle kiss on the warm, golden temple. "Remember what I told you."

Obi-One inhaled brokenly. "I will."

Qui-Gon wiped away the single tear from beneath a glassy eye. "Remember that I love you_. No matter what_, I love you, my Padawan."

Obi-One nodded, and felt a subdued flex in the Force, within their awakened bond. He couldn't identify the source, so quickly shoved it aside, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon. "I love you too."

Qui-Gon allowed it to linger a moment, then broke away, heading toward the door. He thanked Bant and Mejant, hoping he didn't sound as disoriented as he felt.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Anakin stood when his Master walked through the apartment door. He was sullen when he entered the docking bay, only to discover the small party had already departed without him, but he didn't want to start the day with any more resentment between them. 

In this instance, he would overlook his irritation.

The Chancellor's advice surfaced in his head. _"You are the pledged apprentice of Qui-Gon Jinn. He has obligations to you, current ones, that surpass any he has to Kenobi."_

With a buoyed spirit, he looked at the man. "Welcome home, Master." 

Qui-Gon smiled, hanging his robe before strolling over to squeeze Anakin's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Padawan. I'm very anxious to hear how your time was spent while I was occupied."

Anakin shrugged. "The usual stuff. Well, I mean, I started helping with those classes like I told you, but apart from that, nothing new."

Qui-Gon sank onto the couch. Weariness tugged at him, but he couldn't be bothered by its pull. "Well, that's certainly going to change. It's about time we started preparing you for senior Padawan status. I think you're more than ready."

Anakin beamed broadly, settling in the overstuffed arm chair beside the sofa. "Would that mean I'd be able to go on solo missions?"

"Ah, so enthused about ditching your old Master?" Qui-Gon snorted, privately pleased that he was able to do more than function on a low level after the difficult departure in the healing ward. "Maybe we should just put off those trials for a few more years."

Anakin laughed. For the first few minutes of their meeting, he was able to cast aside the niggling feeling within him. But he was young, and such strident resignation wasn't always obtained. 

__

What's the harm in asking? It's not like he won't gush about him anyway.

"How's Knight Kenobi?"

The apprentice watched for the telltale flicker in midnight eyes, but Qui-Gon was physically unaffected by the inquiry.

"Fine. He's going through some routine medical tests, but after that he'll be given clearance to return to his quarters. Knight Brei and Knight Eerin have been very generous with their support of him."

Anakin was taken aback, surprised and satisfied by his Master's answer. Not so indifferent it became suspicious, and not overly concerned either.

__

He wanted to know what was going on with ME. Anakin thought with an inward smile. 

As their companionable conversation went on, Skywalker silently commended Palpatine.

It seemed the politician might just be as wise as Master Yoda.

Or more so.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mejant took Obi-Wan's arm when they exited the healers, interlocking their fingers as was their habit.

It wasn't unusual for a blind person to be led in such a manner. The fact that said person and his female counterpart were closely acquainted was strictly a coincidence.

Or that's what they had always planned on divulging, in case questions ever arose. 

Mejant smiled at him, eyes gleaming with as much love and disbelief as when they landed upon him in the Temple bay. He underwent the tests with a good-natured attitude, never causing Bant to feel uneasy about her duties. The results showed his system was unharmed, save the areas still recuperating from the wipe and reversal process. 

Another sign that he would be alright.

For some ridiculous reason, she needed to repeat that to herself.

"Here we are." She announced, when they had come to his door. 

Obi-One inhaled, reaching out a slightly trembling hand. "This is where I live?"

"Yes."

He felt the cool steel. His fingers streaked along it, smudging the stainless surface. They raked over raised circles, and he was shocked that he could decipher their meaning.

"Kenobi." Obi-One murmured. He turned in Mejant's direction. "I didn't know I could do that. I never even had the opportunity to try until now."

She risked kissing his cheek. "You'll realize all the amazing things you're capable of, Obi, now that you're home."

He grinned, covering her mouth with his.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Qui-Gon turned from the window, the moon's glowing illumination slipping from his cheek to his back as he retreated. 

The day had passed quietly; he spent the time catching up with Anakin, as well as organizing some technical work from the mission.

Now night had spread quietly along Coruscant, and entered the Temple, leaving the halls silent and most of its occupants in rest.

But though he had been granted a certain serenity through the Naboo assignment, Qui-Gon couldn't quite release all the anxious tension within him. A small voice whispered that everything wasn't settled as he would like to believe, threads were still left untied--maybe even fraying, splitting at the ends, and multiplying.

He cast the niggling little annoyance aside, knowing it to be from the throat of jealousy. 

__

Obi-Wan's fine now. His friends are beside him.

And simply because he couldn't detect a palpable envy of young Mejant and the Mon Calamarian healer didn't mean it didn't exist.

For what else could be the cause of the residual brooding, this sense of restlessness when he should be contented in sleep?

Qui-Gon huffed a sigh, trailing from the main room to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and weak, generated light provided a yellow incandescence in the darkened area. 

He pushed past sugary, brightly colored juice and plain mineral water--

Then his fingers brushed against a specific container. Slick, smooth.

"Damn." Qui-Gon uttered under his breath, pulling the bottle of liquor from the depths of the chilling unit.

He stood in the sallow light, watching how it hovered around the green-tinted glass and deepened the amber shade of the liquid half-filling the cool bottle.

How sultry it once seemed, the brassy flavor, promising total intoxication and sweet, temporary relief.

__

Temporary. Qui-Gon titled it, feeling the gentle slosh against his palm. He remembered so many wasted nights when he sought release within the jade bottle, thinking that it would be a cure when, in actuality, it only festered and fed his disease. 

__

I have Obi-Wan now. He's not here, not right here…but still, he's nearby. And that isn't such a huge distance anymore, is it? 

He blinked. _At least, not for awhile. _And stared down at the tantalizing, taunting liquor.

He grasped the slender, glass neck. _I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. _Tightening his hand until he had a stranglehold, Qui-Gon's eyes were leveled, resigned. _This isn't going to make the journey any easier._

Releasing a ragged sigh, he closed the refrigerator and headed for his bedroom, feeling a heaviness in his eyelids.

On the way, he dropped the bottle into the trash.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Mejant poured the second glass of ruby red juice, the striking aroma filling her senses.

Emotionally spent from the day's reunion, and with the realization she had not been able to eat or sip anything except a bit of water since the night before, she took a long drink, allowing the flavorful fluid to revive her system and further calm her nerves. 

Obi-Wan's apartment was completely neglected during his long absence. Thin, white layers of dust coated the rooms and lent a depressing staleness to the place. His kitchen was barren (typical even when he occupied the quaint quarters) and had to be stocked with some essentials before his arrival. Mejant gratefully accepted the task, filling the cupboards with his favorite crackers, breads and canned vegetables, littered with a few choice sweets.

She was a self-professed slob herself, so the real challenge came in tidying his home. She had to be sure all major obstacles were removed from the floor, while not drastically rearranging the set-up. 

After a few hours of feverish cleaning, the apartment was spotless--and smelled pungently of lemon cleanser. _That_ just wouldn't suffice, so the Knight sprayed every room with a liberal amount of freshener.

She didn't count on the power of the previous odor, didn't expect it to withstand half a can of air purifier. 

Mejant only prayed Obi-Wan wouldn't comment on the 'lemony fresh' atmosphere--or gag when it became unbearable. 

Biting her bottom lip to stifle a giggle, she carried the beverages into the main room. 

"Here." She closed his fingers around the cup, then sat beside him on the faded green sofa. 

"Thank you." He replied softly, taking a swallow, his lips lingering on the rim for a moment after, as they usually did.

Mejant smiled. She watched a small, burgundy droplet glimmer on his moist mouth and felt a flutter within her chest. _It never changes…The most foolish things make me want to…_

Obi-One sniffed, a wrinkle appearing in the skin between his brows. "You know, this reminds me of something…"

Mejant sat forward. "What?" She laid a concerned hand on his knee. "Are you remembering something?"

"Yesss…" He touched two fingers contemplatively to his chin, tapping them. "Oh, what _is_ it…"

She grasped his hand, seeing his frustration. "Try to explain it to me. Maybe I can help."

His eye almost twinkled at the kind worry in her voice. If anyone else were to say it, it wouldn't sound nearly as genuine, as heartfelt and deep. "I think…Yes, I have it. 

"This place smells like the hospital." 

Nearly choking on her juice, Mejant clamped a hand over her mouth.

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

Anakin rolled onto his back again, glancing at the chronometer beside his bed with a sigh. 

He _had _tried to get to sleep. For an entire hour he laid beneath the sheets, his eyes closed and his body still against the mattress, waiting for that temporary oblivion to claim him. 

But, although his form was motionless, inside it was restless as those tiny flies, 'specks with wings', that swarmed around Mos Espa, and had to be constantly batted away by irritated inhabitants. 

'Specks with wings'. Yes, that's what almost everyone called them, the little nuisances that further polluted the dusty air, with their hair-fine legs and shrill buzzing. Sometimes, when he escaped long enough from the junkyard to engage in some made-up game with the other kids, Noghu Vuh would be there among them, four or five years older than the rest, nine or ten times larger, it always seemed. 

For as far back as he could remember, Anakin was hated by Noghu, and was greeted with a spindly-toothed sneer whenever their paths crossed. While all of the children participated in hard labor, Anakin experienced a somewhat kinder day, with only mechanical tasks to complete. Noghu had deep scars along his face, and a patch on his head where his ruddy brown hair refused to grow. 

No one could really figure out where he attained such visible signs of his shackled torment, or what his place in the ugly levels of slavery was. 

He relished poking fun at the small, good-natured Anakin. Most of the time, his remarks were brushed off like loose grains of sand. But there was a single instance when Anakin just couldn't disregard the boy's biting words.

__

"All these stupid bugs always flyin' around." Noghu grumbled, waving his arms violently. He glanced at Anakin, who was doing his best to ignore him, and smiled. "For all the trouble they cause, and they're just specks with wings…Kinda like you, Skywalker."

Anakin bit down on a gather of flesh inside his mouth. "You're just…You're just dumb."

"Oh yeah, I guess I am." The boy chuckled. "At least these useless little specks HAVE wings. They can go wherever they want. You're just a speck WITHOUT wings."

Anakin threw his forearm over his eyes. 

Here he was, on the verge of his senior apprenticeship in the Jedi Order, and he was sucking himself back into a different lifetime, uncovering old holes and looking down into their stale darkness.

He flipped onto his side. It was so easy to believe what Noghu said back then. After all, he _didn't_ have wings. If he stood on the crumbling balcony of their hovel and leaped, he wouldn't reach the stars. He would fall.

But now, he was older. He knew better. No sentient being could soar the way he imagined, whether they be a slave or a senator.

Today, he was a Jedi. And at least he could land on his feet. 

__

What more can I ask for?

Anakin swallowed, gazing out into the thick night. He had always survived with little rest. From long hours at Watto's or the fear of nightmares, he was doomed to spend countless hours this way, waiting a long while for a respite that would be much shorter. 

He used to wonder, in his earlier years as a Padawan, if others within the Temple felt the same forbidden emotions as he. Did anyone else who resided in this room dread the setting of the sun?

And…did anyone _know_ they felt that way? Or were they fated to secrecy?

He heard footsteps cross the hall. He pulled his mental shields up a bit higher. _I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything that I'm still afraid of. _

But…But then he'd know I'm afraid.

Is The Chosen One supposed to be afraid? 

Qui-Gon's door shut, and Anakin released a small breath. "I'm afraid Padme doesn't love me as much as I love her." He whispered to the darkness. "I…"

But the next couldn't be spoken aloud. _I'm afraid that when she thinks of love she thinks of…him. I want to trust her. Gods, do I. But it doesn't matter how much I trust her. As long as HE'S around, I'll never know for sure. _

Qui-Gon's door slid open, and Anakin frowned, sealing his eyes as he sensed the man approach. 

The Master entered the room, taking a few paces, then stopping at his apprentice's bed. 

Slowly, Anakin opened his eyes. "Master?"

Blue eyes were streaked with shadow, gleaming and bright. Affectionate. "I..I wanted to tell you again how glad I am to be home."

Anakin smiled faintly. "I'm glad you're home too."

Qui-Gon touched his forehead with gentle, worn fingers. "Tomorrow we'll start training. You'll need your sleep, my Padawan."

"I know." _But it feels so much better when you tell me. _He ushered in the warmth to his heart. 

Qui-Gon smoothed out his blanket, then headed for the door. "Good night, Ani."

"G'night, Master."

For several minutes, he lay in the quiet, his lips still upturned at the corners. _I know you love me. I know you have your responsibilities to me, but…_"I'm afraid I could lose you."

To his own surprise, his voice slightly cracked. 

There were so many ways a Padawan could be left without a Master. Anakin knew well about that. 

__

But if just one possibility were eliminated…

He felt himself drifting, rocked by the lull of the Force and his thoughts. _I guess _I'm_ not the speck anymore, am I, Kenobi?_

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^

"Obi-Wan?"

Mejant's hushed voice threaded through the silence. It was late, the hour of absolute calm (or, the closest Coruscant could come to it) and the backdrop was dense black, save the tall, looming street rods, with their trembling yellow glow. She could feel the peace of collective rest within the Temple--nearly complete. But the single soul that linked them all together somehow, the Jedi blessed above the rest, remained awake, his head resting on her lap, his body stretched across the sofa.

The Knight's fingers on one hand were curled and touching to his lips. 

Mejant smoothed his hair. "Obi-Wan? Obi…Can you tell me what's wrong?" Their conversation had been so natural and easy, almost as if there had never been the lonely gap of time when he was stranded on Naboo. But she didn't walk into the docking bay expecting him to be restored to his original self. There were bound to be moments of both confusion and pain.

__

He…He hasn't been himself since…

She drew a glossy lock behind her ear. _We can get through this. _

Obi-One closed his eyes, realizing again the triviality of keeping them open. "Nothing's wrong. It's the opposite. It's like being held under water so long you forget what it's like to breathe….You forget _how_ to breathe." He swallowed, laying his hand on her knee. "Then, to be thrown to the surface, and have the air hit you…The wind, the breeze…And the sun…

"I didn't understand what it would be like to be around so many like me. People who hear what I can hear. Feel what I feel. And it's not that I can just feel their physical presence…I can…" 

Mejant smiled, running her fingers across his lips, sensing the overwhelmed spirit, battling to describe what was infinitely beyond description. "I know what you mean." She murmured, leaning close. 

He felt her warm breath against his face. For one terrible, seething moment, he hated to his core whoever tried to steal her from his mind. 

But then it subsided, as it must. If he felt the extent of it, his anger and resentment, he was sure he would smother. 

Obi-One kissed her, his palm caressing her cheek, holding her in place. "All of it's too much…" He parted slightly from her mouth, his eyes proving once more that sight was never their sole function, as they seemed to stare up at her. 

His unfixed gaze was entrancing, sweet and pure and gleaming. Mejant shivered. 

"It's too much…But I don't want any of it to go. I need to keep it." He said.

Mejant wiped a stray tear from under her eye, then his. "You'll keep it, Obi. It feels like too much because you're so sensitive to the Force…You're it's most beloved creation. Soon, you'll know it too."

Obi-One sat up and drew her into his arms. "You're just trying to flatter me." He said, a little shyly, with a smile. "I know something of who I am now…And I can't see anything especially miraculous."

Mejant was ashamed of the smile that spread across her face. It was wonderful to hear words that sounded distinctly like Obi-Wan, humble and self-deprecating, as he had always been. She had accepted he would never recognize the greatness in himself, not more than a shred of his worth--but it didn't mean she would stop telling him. "You're here, aren't you? You endured everything that's happened…Which is much more than most could've done."

"Well, from what I can tell, I'm here because of my former Master," He spread feather light kisses along her delicate brow. "And you. You two saved me."

She didn't say another word, collapsing into her love for him, against his chest. _No…It's the other way around._

^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^


	14. Glinting Cold Seeds

**__**

Chapter Fourteen: Glinting Cold Seeds

I didn't think you could stab my back again

Since your knife was already in

But the first was but a glinting, cold seed

And there's always something left in me to bleed

Her fingers were always warm, for as long (or as much) as he could remember. Whether they were flattened against his arm or smoothed along his cheek or wrapped around his own, they were a gentle source of heat no matter the surrounding temperature. In the sterile breeze of the healing ward, he only had to squeeze those soft fingers to still the cold trembling within him. He had strange memories of long nights, when Qui-Gon was gone (he assumed it was after his…what was it…knighthood) and her touch held the demons at bay, with their icy claws and frozen, rough scales.

Obi-One felt that an entire cluster of them were warring inside his belly as he walked down the Temple corridor, his steps echoing hollowly alongside Mejant's measured staccato.

As if she too were suffering the effects of the frigid monsters, she grasped his hand.

"H-He said you're just going to start off with a short talk?" She asked, in a slightly detached, almost fluttery tone.

"Yes."

It had been a few days since his return to the huge Jedi dwelling, and was settling in 'as best as could be expected' when Yoda visited him in his quarters. He recalled the garbled-voiced Master from numerous recovered memories, and was eager to meet with him. Yoda reciprocated, speaking casually with him for nearly two hours before mentioning that Obi-One could benefit from daily sessions with the Council leader, as well as a Temple psychiatrist that was unfamiliar with his past, and could thusly offer a more balanced opinion of his recollections.

Obi-One was hesitant, worried of what he would be forced to share, but at the same time, relieved that his memories could be given a coherence outside of Qui-Gon's efforts. He knew that the man cared very much for him, and because of that affection his views on events might be skewed.

It couldn't have all been silly pranks and tearful moments. Obi-One made mistakes, as everyone did, and he wanted to remember those, too.

Still, during his days with his former Master on Naboo, a sort of comfort zone was created. He was moving beyond that more and more, beginning with their parting at the healers, furthered by his current endeavor.

Towards total independence, he knew.

And then there would be a true equality between he and Mejant. Their shoulders would be leveled, so that either could bend to cry upon the other.

"Master Tria's supposed to be wonderful." She commented, rubbing the surface of his fingernails slowly. "I've never talked much with her, but she headed this class…this miniature seminar, and everyone was really impressed with her insight."

Obi-One swallowed. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm curious to know why she would bother with something like this, though."

"She's a Jedi, Obi." Mejant pressed her lips against his cheek quickly. "And the wellbeing of her fellow Jedi is her first priority. She works with initiates, Masters. Sometimes even the younglings."

"She does sound wonderful." He conceded with a smile, returning the kiss to her lips, not sensing anyone else within the halls. "So she'll probably think I'm insane."

"Nah, your cover was blown about _that _a long time ago." Mejant laughed. "We all know you're a psychopath.

"But you're a very loveable one."

Obi-One smiled, genuinely, with a chuckle. "Thanks, my darling love."

Mejant suddenly tightened her hand. "Oh gosh…You sound…"

He crinkled his forehead. "I sound like what?"

She stopped in front of an old world, mottled wood door and touched his jaw. "Oh…You just sound like yourself."

He breathed out, surprised at how shaky the exhalation was. "Maybe it's because I'm starting to feel like myself."

Mejant stared into his face, caressed by the unique amber lighting of Yoda's hallway, his bone structure and features outlined in shadow. She smiled, her mouth stretched and quivering, her eyes going to slits. _Thank you Force. Thank you. _Because not only was his body returning to its normalcy, but so was his mind. "I'll be here waiting when it's over."

His expression faded, as though he had forgotten about the meeting entirely. "I--I know you will."

"And don't be scared. I know it's daunting, but this is Yoda. He has no intention other than to help you. If he did, I'd punch his little lights out."

Obi-One laughed, embracing her for a second as the door began to open.

"Remember what I said." Mejant added briskly, squeezing his hand again.

He heard her greet Yoda, then her departing footsteps on the slick, hard floor.

He would remember what she said, and that her hand had not been entirely warm. He would need to tell her to take her own advice after this was over.

A melting warmth was in his heart, and he was not so fearful as he was on the journey.

Yoda rose from his low, beaten plush chair with half a smile. He sensed Obi-Wan's presence in the hall, could almost physically feel the glow of purity the youth had within the Force.

But was Obi-Wan Kenobi truly a youth anymore?

Hm, he wasn't so certain about that.

Although, when he thought about it, chewing amiably on his gimer stick as he waddled toward the door, he supposed that in comparison to his eight hundred or so years, most everyone was young.

Though hardly anyone was a child. There was a distinct difference there that the ancient Master was well aware of . Too often he saw arrogance striding through the Temple corridors, a streak of talent defiled by overconfidence, in the form of young Knights and Padawans. With a sigh, he realized he detected those same faults in many Masters of the Order.

To an extent, it was to be expected. The Jedi had always been a regular fixture in the media, and the crux of that mass source, the veritable solar plexus of news reports and political intrigues and entertainment was Coruscant. A portion of the time, they were hailed as heroes, the selfless, steady security in an otherwise crime-riddled Universe.

But then there were the backlashes. After being swelled with pride, the Knights and Padawans and even Masters were bombarded with conflicting views, those groups and entire worlds that rejected both the ideals and purpose of the Jedi.

There were some who argued that they were relics of another era, long passed.

Worse, that they were programmed underlings of the Supreme Chancellor, unusually strong pups strangled by a choke chain if they wandered too far.

It was natural to defend that which was your upbringing and way of life.

Yet…too many believed themselves invincible or perfect.

A reckless philosophy that would become dangerous. Master Yoda grunted as he opened the door. Was there anything to remedy such foolishness?

No matter. He would worry on that later. For now, he would focus on one left virtually untainted by that curse--but damaged nonetheless.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi possessed the goodness and occasional abandon of a child, long after he was accepted as an apprentice to Qui-Gon Jinn. He wasn't naïve or brash, but he genuinely wanted to trust in others.

Perhaps it was his most beautiful quality, but one of twin sharpened edges, for it was also his downfall. He threw his heart into something--and lost a bit of it each time that something failed him.

Or betrayed him.

When the wrinkled green dwarf greeted the sad subject of his musings, he couldn't help the melancholy that sheathed his mind.

"Knight Kenobi. Glad to see you, I am."

Obi-One turned his head toward the hoarse, slightly garbled voice and sketched a shallow bow, a habit he could remember from some kind of ceremony…But his recollection was dark and clotted with fog, and he didn't understand its meaning.

But that was what these meetings sought to accomplish, wasn't it?

"I'd like to say again how thankful I am to you, Master." He began quietly. "I deeply appreciate that you wish to help me with this."

Yoda smiled, more lines stretching out in the web of creases taut over his face. The Knight stood upright, apparently unaware that his companion's head barely reached his knee. But that reminder could come later, after they were settled.

"A family, the Jedi are. Forgotten or left to the cold, no member should or shall be." He took a long, heavy-lidded look at the man. "Help you, I will. In any way that I can."

Obi-One walked into the apartment, the fingers of his right hand slightly splayed, trying (with a measure of caution and doubt) to locate the obstacles surrounding him through…the Force. The Force. 'Around and within', as he remembered from an early, and recently uncovered, discussion in his childhood.

The objects were around him…and the power to sense them was within himself.

Feeling a tiny lift in his heart, he managed to find an armchair--and uttered a surprised gasp when he plopped down a few more--feet--than he originally estimated.

A gurgle of laughter came from somewhere near him, from the mouth of the wizened Master, and flames erupted in his cheeks.

While he quickly readjusted his suddenly abnormally gawky body, a small, clawed hand came to rest on his knee, and he felt as though he were wreathed in soothing energy.

"I'm sorry--I didn't realize--" Obi-One fanned the fire, his words following his body's suit and fumbling miserably.

Yoda chuckled with understanding softness. "A small detail, it is."

Obi-One smiled. _Small indeed, _he mused, shifting on the low chair. The air was thick with a damp, salty, not entirely pleasant odor, and he tried not to allow the budding grimace to surface on his face.

But another good-spirited laugh revealed to him that he had failed. "Remember, you must not, the unique aroma of my homeworld, hmm?"

"…Do I?" Obi-One placed two bent fingers to his temple, sifting through the bits and pieces returned to his memory, the near-stench sending an itch to his mind. "…Yes…I think I do…" A grin split his face and he chuckled breathlessly. "I was…standing in the doorway…I think…and that smell filled my nose and…I…had a…stomach upset?"

Yoda released a thin peal of laughter. "Stomach upset, yes. Called that, it could be. A small child, no more than four cycles…one whiff of this place… on the floor, every last content of the tiny stomach was thrown."

"Oh _gods_, what a first impression I must've made!" Obi-One exclaimed, privately shocked at how candid he was allowing himself to be, especially so soon into their meeting. " A-And then…then you showed me how to move this…glowing little ball…levitation?"

"Mm, yes. Eager to begin object manipulation, you were. And excel quickly, you did."

Obi-One sobered, flexing his hands, feeling the faint pulse of power in them. "Will that--will the levitating ability--come back to me, given time?" It was disconcerting to hear the amazing skills he mastered as a young child, things he was now completely clueless about.

"Leave you, talents never do. Dormant, they are. Waiting to be drawn from once more. Have the power, Obi-Wan, _you_ do. It is with you, always."

Obi-One inhaled, his initial disgust slowly vanishing, replaced by murmurs of his past, fragments of lessons and trials. "It…is with me."

And that was invaluable knowledge.

Qui-Gon powered down his saber with a flick of his thumb, panting heavily. Heat burned moist on his face and he wished, as he often did, that his hair was not quite so long, that it clung to his neck and jaw when damp.

And he wished too, perhaps more so, that the natural, light chestnut color was not under the grievous invasion of gray, gleaming lusterless silver and projecting his age to those who would consider it a weakness.

Of course, he reflected with a smile, an underestimation from the enemy was never a bad thing.

He locked eyes with his current adversary, who was picking himself up from the hard arena floor, and gave a single, strong nod.

Anakin had never underestimated him--and he certainly had never been the enemy. But Qui-Gon, with his decades of experience, still carried a few tricks up his sleeve.

Which accounted for the overly flushed countenance of his apprentice as the boy retrieved his own weapon and wiped his sweating hands on his leggings-a decidedly unattractive, but lasting, habit of Anakin.

"A good spar, Padawan." Qui-Gon announced, clapping the muscled shoulder. "A very good spar. You've excelled so quickly in every area, I'm astonished." He looked into the dark blue eyes and a shimmer came to his. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

Anakin beamed, his bronzed forehead shining in reflection of the strips of light above them. "Thank you, Master."

Qui-Gon grinned in return, then they headed for the bench where they left their towels and water containers, his eyes wandering to Anakin's rangy form. Countless times since his arrival from Naboo, Qui-Gon caught himself marveling at how rapidly his young student was maturing, how many bounds in lessons and training Anakin was making, strides in his independence, especially in assisting the saber class. More and more, the Master could glimpse a man materializing where there had been a messy haired, sprite of a boy, a Knight where there had been a Padawan.

But he would not get ahead of himself. His focus was always to be fastened to the moment, and at the moment, Anakin still had volumes to learn. Qui-Gon would not make the mistake of recommending him for the Trials prematurely. He was the Chosen One, the fulfillment of a prophecy that had to be carried out--and, beneath the gloss of fantastic destiny, he was Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon's fourth-and final-Padawan. The combination was something to be treasured, and Qui-Gon would not release it until the moment he felt it was right…not a day before.

And it would be done right, in the perfect setting, at the perfect time.

It would be private. It would be heart wrenching.

Yet it would not, could not, be as soul splitting as when he allowed his own hastiness to discard another precious jewel, throwing it to the jagged rocks, forgetting how beautiful and warm it had been.

This time, he would be mindful of that monumental error, so that Ani did not have to suffer as--another--had.

Swallowing an inexplicable lump in his throat, Qui-Gon grabbed a fuzzy white towel and pressed it to his dripping face. "Since your class doesn't meet today, why don't we eat down at Dex's? I haven't had my daily requirement of grease today."

Anakin chuckled. "It's very tempting, Master, but I have to run an errand for Master Espella on the other side of the city."

"Oh." He felt a twinge of disappointment, but smiled. "She seems to be running you ragged, Anakin."

Anakin shrugged. "I'm learning a lot, though, so it's worth the time…We can still have dinner together." His voice lifted hopefully.

Qui-Gon took a long, cool drink. "Of course. But be conscious that if the class begins to interfere with your studies or training, you'll have to cut back on how much you can help. You have priorities to tend to, Padawan."

A bit of the ease left Anakin's face, but his lip curled up. "Yes, Master. I know. I'll be careful."

Qui-Gon squeezed his arm. "Then I'll see you by seventh chime?"

"Yeah." The boy agreed, lingering a moment before jogging toward the double doors.

Qui-Gon remained in the empty, cavernous room and tried to gauge exactly what was unsettling him.

Obi-One flexed his fingers around the cold handle of the weight. It had been nearly five months since the operation began to stitch what was so ruthlessly torn within the fabric of his mind, and each day fibers were strengthening, threads intertwining, so that the patchwork's picture was becoming more clear to him. Often, the returned memories were a warmth wrapped around him in a chill--or a smothering blanket, covering his face so that his periphery was a dismal cloud of disappointments, failures and overwhelming pain, stealing his breath.

But eventually the air would flow free again.

As it did while his muscles tightened to lift the weight and he grunted, working in another strained repetition before releasing his grip. A cool sheen of sweat stood on his skin and he was admittedly tired, but a smile brushed across his mouth.

Master Windu was instructing him in basic saber technique and once he was reminded of the fundamentals, stances and blocks, specifics came easier, and he found himself slipping into dizzying new routines--then would be informed by a deep, pleased voice that these shocking revelations were remnants of his former fighting style, that the heady fuel of adrenaline was not fully responsible for the quick parries and blows he was executing.

Reaching for the first few handholds in a climb, cloaked in shadow, it's difficult to visualize your feet landing solidly on the summit, the heat of the sun burning close and intense on your shoulders.

But, Obi-One was slowly realizing, even as one approaches their goal, it doesn't become any more feasible.

Warmth was beginning to drift to the crown of his head--and Obi-One could scarcely believe it. His hands were raw from mending and climbing--and still, he wanted to attack his own sense of hope.

He knew now that there was a part of him that distrusted success, that peered suspiciously at the fluttery beat of his heart. Obi-One learned to stand at a sort of attention, rigid, to prohibit his mind from wandering…to entertain happy notions.

There were recovered shreds of shadow, of curling up in a corner and cursing himself for putting faith in a life of good times and good friends.

It was when Tahl was murdered, when he was locked in a strange place, chained, in damp clothes, when he could feel his chest sinking to his belly.

He had an intrinsic reflex even now to berate himself for daydreaming, while his schedule demanded he join Master Yoda for a session, then complete another workout, and a million other things that would surface.

The wall communicator buzzed, and he grabbed for his cane tipped against the couch. He despised the thing, but until he was given clearance from Bant--he already knew bribery wouldn't sway her--it was companion to his legs, clicking with each step.

He pressed his finger to the talk button. "Yes?" _Ah no, I forgot to address myself._

"Obi-Wan?"

Surprised, he smiled. "Master Jinn. Yes, yet it's me…I haven't quite mastered the correct procedure in answering the communicator yet."

"I'll forgive you this time." The elder Jedi chuckled. "I was wondering if you'd eaten yet."

"No, I haven't."

"Anakin's been called away by an errand, so would you like to have midday meal?"

"Sure."

"I was thinking we could go to Dex's…Do you remember Dex?"

Obi-One's shoulders slumped minutely. "No. I-I don't think so."

The responding voice didn't hold any somberness. "Well then, we'll have a lot for you to catch up with. I'll just come by and get you."

"We can meet at the Temple entrance." Obi-One offered. It wasn't that he was too proud to wait for Qui-Gon's arrival, but he hadn't met with the Master in almost two months, and since then he had adapted well to the mapping of the huge Jedi dwelling.

"Alright then. I'll be there."

"Okay." Obi-One let his finger drop from the button, and went to retrieve his robe.

The Jedi Temple entrance was a crisp manifestation of what the Order strove to be: a sterling monument of purity, with clean, reflective steel untouched by grime, as the residents within were to model their own hearts.

But it was something of a pipe dream, a particularly well-known member of the Order thought as he approached the belly of the massive room. Because deeper within the building, rooms were dingy with age or abandoned, walls of energetic Padawans were plastered with bright posters.

And then…there was someone who outshone the esteemed, glinting space, like the moon among tiny stars.

Qui-Gon smiled, resting his hand on his past student's elbow. "Hello, Obi-Wan. It's been a…long time."

Obi-One reflected the expression he couldn't see--and didn't need to. "It has been, hasn't it?"

Qui-Gon brought his arms around the other's shoulders in a quick embrace. In truth, it was tremendously difficult to distance himself from his former Padawan while he knew the man was enduring rapid changes and inevitable pain…the Master's heart constricted every time he was reminded of the randomness of it. One moment could bring the swirled recollection of childhood, sweet and gentle, the next could be anything, every minute of the day held the potential of unearthing..

What a selfish fool had been so wrong in burying.

A 'long time' had been an eternity to Qui-Gon Jinn.

The separation appeared to have been more kind to Obi-One, who leaned into the friendly hug with a heightened confidence, as though he was slowly shedding foreign skin over his months-long recovery, and could move more freely.

After another second, Qui-Gon pulled back and saw realms of revived character in the unfocused set of eyes. _More and more, my Obi-Wan. _"You've made progress, little one."

Obi-One nodded with the pale stirrings of a flush on his face. "They did some scans a dew days ago. Fifty four percent of my memory has returned."

Simultaneously, Qui-Gon's heart lifted and his stomach dropped. _Fifty four percent? Over half already. Force. _He cleared his throat. "That's remarkable, Obi-Wan. And wonderful.

"Of course, I expect nothing less from you."

Obi-One grinned, sensing the shared warmth, able to feel a deeper communion now than scarcely eight weeks before.

"C'mon." Qui-Gon ghosted his fingers over his upper arm. "Let's go."

The streets were crammed with life forms, some strolling and some with a sense of great urgency, shouldering through the crowds with serious or irritated expressions, obviously cursing whatever entity decided there should be _anyone_ blocking their way.

Qui-Gon was worried that in the compacted chaos he would lose Obi-One, but not wanting to make the other Jedi feel incompetent by keeping hold of his wrist, he relied on the sharpening Force talents of his companion to keep them in sync. It was an instinct Qui-Gon constantly stifled--he wanted only to protect him.

The Coruscant sun blazed above. Qui-Gon squinted, seeing the old-fashioned diner through the clusters of hungry populace.

He suppressed a groan. _Lunch hour._

Once they were detached from the stream, the bearded man sighed, looking over at Obi-One. "It's a little busy." An understatement, considering the line that began at the register and ended somewhere outside the door, even curving around a bend.

"Makes me wonder if any of these people have actually _tasted _the food here."

Obi-One smiled. He couldn't recall any instances when Qui-Gon was genuinely flabbergasted. "Makes me wonder why _you _would be so eager to eat here, then."

Qui-Gon laughed. "Well, let's just say it's not the choice of cuisine."

They trekked to the tail of the line.

Palpatine drummed his fingers, slender slabs of fishbelly, freckled by liver spots, against the window pane. There was a vibration throughout his body, a thrum of great anticipation, as he stared out at the bright, mid-afternoon sky, a polar opposite of the inky darkness within him.

The Force was a great pool of black in his heart, and today it was bubbling… it _knew_, in the way it always knew, what was to happen.

He wasn't one for basking in the sun, he preferred clouds to clear skies, but even he could admit that the day was strikingly beautiful.

Because it would bring change, like the first gray flake of snow in late autumn.

It would come slowly.

And eventually, it would cover…it would _smother _everything.

Anakin pressed his eyes shut and steeled his emotions. This was always the hardest part, more difficult each time he was forced to do it.

"I better go, Padme. I'll call again--when I can."

"I know you will." She replied, her voice a projection of pure warmth and love, lessened none by electronic communication. "I miss you."

"Miss you too." A silence fell, and in it they could both feel the pulse of something always left unsaid, but that lived within both of them, waiting.

__

Forget the Jedi. Come to me. Come home.

I will.

But today was not the day, was as dreary as the rest, despite the dazzle of the unimpeded sun above the Padawan. "Bye."

"Goodbye, Ani."

Padme turned from the comm, her lips pursed to hold back a sob.

Dorme stood in the doorway. Both women were swathed in weak light, diluting their features enough that they truly did appear to be exact reflections of one another. The handmaiden moved to stand beside the Senator. "You didn't tell him?"

Padme smiled sadly, shook her head. "No."

Dorme's eyes narrowed in concern. "Milady, how much time do you have bef--"

"That doesn't matter." She interrupted. Her hair was collected in a clasp at the base of her neck, revealing the new fullness of her face, the deeper flush and fair glow. A few tears escaped and trailed down her cheeks. "Being a Jedi is his dream. There's an entire….there's an entire prophecy devoted to him."

A hand rested on her shoulder. "But he is devoted to _you_, Milady. He escapes there to speak with you."

"And that should be enough for me." Padme huffed. "I knew what I was getting into."

Dorme waited until their eyes met. "And so did he." She squeezed her friend's hand, then left the room.

Padme closed her eyes against the onslaught of more tears.

Anakin exited the booth, moving into the crowds of lower level citizens. He would never meld in with them, he stood out most anywhere he went, but it was doubtful anyone would recognize him in the first place.

He found himself thinking of his Master as he strolled, of the invitation he declined in favor of speaking with his wife. He regretted it only because it most likely hurt Qui-Gon, who probably dined at the apartment, as he usually did when Anakin was called away on an 'errand' or 'assignment'.

__

I don't want to lie to you but…there isn't any other way.

He had his justification--he just wished it didn't pain him so much.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan edged forward in the line. Many of the patrons were leaving Dex's with take-out sacks, for which he was supremely grateful. Once they were seated, it would be easier to fall into deeper conversation, to reconnect after their time of slight distance.

It was his intention to visit with Obi-Wan more often, at least once a week, but he found himself busied by Anakin. Their relationship had suffered during the Naboo mission, the Master had to admit. They both had been…distracted, and it didn't help matters when he was forced to send the boy back to Coruscant prematurely.

And he had affairs of his own to deal with. He was receiving numerous guest speaking invitations, from sparring instructors and classes focused on mediation. Qui-Gon's methods were always nonviolent, whenever he could possible manage it, a trait that needed to be strengthened in many initiates and Padawans alike. He didn't view them as burdens upon his schedule, but they _did _detract from the time he could spend with Obi-Wan. He declined a few, but Mace and many others advised him he would be of immense help to struggling students.

There had been a lift in Qui-Gon's chest when he was told, albeit quietly and discreetly, by his Jedi comrade that his name was somewhat of a legend around the children's quarters at the Temple. He had always been a figure of mystique and interest to the younger sect, a towering man who had no problem defying the Council whenever he had the inspiration to.

But now…_now_ he was the Master of Anakin Skywalker, the boy who had outgrown most of his childhood foibles, striding with confidence through the halls, the glow of destiny surrounding him. Qui-Gon had located and championed the Chosen One. He was a living part of the Jedi's greatest prophecy, a survivor of the epic battle with the Sith Lord. His reputation had lent a spark of admiration to the youngling's eyes--and perked their ears, to listen as he explained the pillars of the Code, or how to deflect a strike to the neck without a weapon, or the virtues of his own brand of stoicism.

Of course he had spoken to Obi-Wan since the day he voluntarily departed from the healers' ward, and from his place as the recovering Knight's caretaker. For the first several months, he stopped in for tea, during which he would be brought up to date on Obi-Wan's progress, and in turn would inform Obi-Wan of Anakin's latest advancements. But the past two months were hectic. Obi-Wan was slowly being allowed to take on more exercises for his mind and body, his sessions with Yoda and the psychologist concurrently increased. Qui-Gon and his apprentice left on a brief assignment.

Time had definitely caught up, to supply for the precious moments on Naboo when the hours held still for them.

Although, every now and then, it took pity.

Qui-Gon was smiling as they advanced in the line again. "You've gained more weight." He observed.

Obi-One chuckled. "Who knew that would ever be taken as a compliment?" He crossed his arms with a not-altogether-innocent grin. "But none of it can be attributed to the…uh…dishes served at Master Yoda's meetings."

Qui-Gon felt the rumble of warm mirth in his throat. "Ah yes. Delicacies from the swamp."

"Gorghalian wet biscuits." The Knight's grimace mimicked, very well, the expression that came over most faces when that particular food passed through their lips. "A taste I sorely wish I would've remembered _before _I put it in my mouth."

"Hmmm." Qui-Gon couldn't help the laughter that broke free. "It isn't too often one is lucky enough to experience that first, sumptuous bite _twice_."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he was attempting to _reverse _my healing."

The quip brought broad smiles to them, because not only were they well aware of the ancient sage's culinary skills…but it was a pleasure to hear that Obi-Wan did, truly, know better the Master's nature.

"Speaking of which," Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled as he glanced upward, "I think we're next to sample some more delicious, what does he call them…'eats'."

Qui-Gon was accepting two menus from a scantily dressed waitress when the distinct call of one of his oldest friends filled the bustling diner.

"Well, well!"

Dex ambled over to their booth, wiping at his face with a tattered, stained rag. His wide form dominated the aisle, and his massive, loose-skinned belly peeked out from the white shirt and wrinkled apron he wore. His head looked as though it were almost piled atop his shoulders, with a graying black moustache concealing a plump upper lip. "This is quite a surprise!" He chortled, with his crookedly genuine smile.

Qui-Gon stood and was immediately enfolded in twin pairs of arms, receiving a jarring pat on the back when he broke away. "Good afternoon, Dex."

The alien laughed again, a thick, wheezing sort of sound. "Not every day you snot-nosed Jedi disgrace yourselves by comin' here. Were ya exiled?"

Qui-Gon chuckled and Obi-One smiled from his seat on the bench.

Dex's expression softened as he focused two pools of black on the Knight. The three had always had a great rapport, even when the kid really _was _a kid, and too uptight for his own good. As the years passed, Obi-Wan began to shed the confines of apprenticeship, and Dex was impressed by the level of dry humor the Jedi could so effortlessly display.

The two Jedi fit alongside the regular patrons of the restaurant. They didn't recoil from the crackling of grease or the occasional swear.

Simply put, they weren't under the illusion that some among their ranks were--they weren't little versions of the gods, just put down on the ground for a short stay.

So when they came by with a couple of inquiries, about a planet or a mining operation or whatever latest problem they were stuck with by the Council, Dex was more than glad to help.

But it had been---a long while since he saw them here, together. And much longer since he had seen the kid here.

It was a shame that someone as decent as Kenobi would be the target of something so ruthless. Dex felt a painful lump in his chest and he shook his head, catching the attention of Qui-Gon.

"Just be yourself." The Master mouthed silently.

Dex nodded, although the caution was useless. He only knew how to be himself--and it was still the kid, after all. He laid a blunt-fingered hand on his shoulder.

"You puttin' up with this guy?" He grinned. "That's a surefire way to lose your lunch."

Obi-One managed a slow smile. "Really? He told me the food usually did that."

Dex laughed. "Nah, he's always been a rotten liar! You're both just used to that fancy Jedi food. You don't know _real _grub. Speakin' of which, you guys know what you want?"

Obi-One started to say that he didn't, but the robust alien laughed again. "It's alright, kid. I know what you always like."

"And what about me?" Qui-Gon wondered, visibly amused.

"I know that, too. How else do I bring ya somethin' ya hate every time? That ain't just luck!"

Qui-Gon snickered against his fist as Dex disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.

"So, this dish that I always like…" Obi-One bit his lip. "Do I really?"

This time, Qui-Gon laughed heartily.

For awhile, they simply engaged in light conversation, not feeling the pressure to speak in any measure of seriousness.

Dex brought them their steaming plates. The heat wafted up around Obi-One's face and he smiled--he refused to think that he was _nervous_ about eating a meal.

__

If all else fails, I'll just swallow-very fast. He planned out in his mind as he picked up a cold fork. _Unless it's still alive, of course. _He swallowed. _Oh gods, what if it's still alive?_

"C'mon now, kid. You look like you're in front of a firing squad. No one's died from the food yet."

"'Yet' being the operative word." Qui-Gon muttered. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to visit the lavatory…Strange, considering I'm usually running to it _after _I've eaten this slop."

Dex's amusement projected richly in the cramped space. "Have a blast, ya ingrate. I'll just be re-corrupting your old apprentice here."

"Then, may the Force be with you, Obi-Wan. _Gods _let it be with you." Qui-Gon deadpanned, with a sly grin, before departing.

Dex gave a bark of laughter, then plopped down on the vacated bench. "Don't listen to 'im, kid. Without my influence, ya wouldn't be the fine, upstanding gent you are today."

Obi-One smiled. Faint color rose on his cheeks. "You and Master Qui-Gon must be great friends. I've never--heard him act that way before."

Dex rubbed at his bristly chin. "Yeah, we've always had a special relationship. Usually, I'd _kill_ a fella who badmouths the food the way he does."

"How did you two meet?"

"Ha! You ask that kinda question to such an old codger. I barely remember what I ate for breakfast this mornin'." He sobered a little as he looked into the sightless eyes. "I _do_ remember, real well, the first time I met you though. Ya came in here with Qui-Gon, your head not even to his shoulder. Ya barely said a word and all ya ate were ice cubes."

"How exciting I was." Obi-One smirked.

"But after awhile, ya became a food vacuum and I had to barricade the kitchen to keep you from eating the place out of business."

"Oh geez." The Knight groaned. "From all that I've gathered, I've had quite the reputation of being--a hog."

Dex chuckled. "There's no nice way of sayin' it. _But_, once you grew up, you were pretty much back to your preferred menu of ice cubes. Either way, ya drove ol' Jinn nuts." He wet his lips. "I can't tell ya how glad I am to see you friends with him again."

Obi-One's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

Dex's jubilant expression fell to grave. He saw Qui-Gon returning to the booth and frowned at his confused companion. "You're telling me he didn't--" But then he stopped himself. _Not my place. Definitely not._

Qui-Gon was walking towards the table when he glanced out the window--and froze.

Strolling down the street was his apprentice.

__

What's Anakin doing in this area? What errand could Master Espella have assigned him down here?

He wanted to rush out and confront the boy, but Anakin was already disappearing into the crowd, and friends were waiting for him.

__

Besides, he probably has a legitimate reason for being here. Straightening slightly, Qui-Gon rejoined Dex and Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, increasingly sensitive to his surroundings as time progressed, smoothed out the brooding lines on his face and folded his hands. Perhaps he didn't understand Dex's wording…had misinterpreted his meaning. In any case, it was too small a matter to bother Qui-Gon with. Why turn a falling star into an asteroid?

Still, he couldn't dismiss it completely.

He was beginning to understand that he wasn't wired to take much of anything lightly. He didn't act on impulse. Every situation was under his scrutiny long enough to be viewed from numerous angles. No, he would not ask Master Jinn about Dex's comment—but he would not forget it, either.

Qui-Gon resumed his place at the booth and took up his fork, but there was something noticeably different, albeit almost imperceptible, in his expression.

The bulging entrepreneur didn't act as if he was aware, and was only too happy to revert the conversation to merry topics.

Both Jedi participated in the talk, yet much of the spirit had been drained from them.

And Dex was immensely troubled, when they departed, to discover there had not been one wisecrack directed at his cuisine while they ate.

Okay, time to explain! I've hit an enormous speed bump in this, and I'm slowly coming around to it again. Now that summer's here, and I've graduated, this will be updated. This is only about half of the chapter, and I'm posting it to push myself back into this story. It's still my biggest endeavor, and I will _never _abandon it! Thank you to any readers I may have left—LuvEwan


	15. Glinting Cold Seeds: Part 2

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SoloKenobi Thank you so much for reading! I know it's long, and badly written in many parts, so your dedication is much appreciated!

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Kynstar Hey! So glad to see another of your reviews! Thank you!

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Athena Leigh Thank you so, so, _so _much for continuing to read, even when it seemed like I had left this one to the dogs. I appreciate it more than you know.

Obi-One passed the small, cold lead ball over and under his fingers, weaving it through like a thread. The movement redirected the panic from his heart to his hand, and he focused his mind entirely on that task.

But no diversion could last through the tumultuous emotion, the confusion that had bombarded him without warning.

__

"I can't tell ya how glad I am to see you friends with him again."

Again?

Obi-One turned his hand so that his palm faced upward, and the ball rolled into the middle of it. _Again? When weren't we friends? I don't recall…_ The frustration tightened his fingers around the cool, round object. Even now, there was such an unimpressive list of what he _could _recall. Over half was already returned to him, he reminded himself—but at the shore of unknown waters, with a single question rising, it was as if he were a stranger to himself all over again, and unarmed against the current.

Perhaps it would not consume him so, this strange comment, foreign to his recollections, if it wasn't for Qui-Gon's behavior afterwards. Obi-One knew his former Master was not present during his conversation with Dex, but regardless, the man wasn't the same once he returned to the table.

Jedi could _sense _things, Obi-One had been told from the start, from Qui-Gon himself. Had Qui-Gon sensed the renewal of a sore subject from the past?

Obi-One leaned back against the couch and searched his limited realms of memory, for the tiniest argument, the smallest difference in opinion that could have bred an estrangement.

Then, a dark tingle, in his head and roiling in his stomach.

__

Tahl?

The issue had seemed resolved, back on the transport. Words were exchanged, the truth was revealed and peace was made. They had forgiven each other for the mistakes of that grimly shadowed time.

But was it worse than Qui-Gon had let on? Did the death of his only love create a larger breach between he and Obi-One, a separation that Dex would lament?

__

He promised to be truthful. I must trust in that. His sightless eyes gleamed in the darkness of the apartment. _He took care of me, when I felt nothing for him—or anything else. I can't doubt him now._

Qui-Gon sat in the armchair, finding it uncomfortable for maybe the first time in his life.

Anakin was stretched across the sofa, a data pad in his hands and his face expressionless. The room's lighting left traces of gold to tint his skin, reminding Qui-Gon of the sunburned little sprite, smudged with dirt, running beside him through the Tatooine dunes.

Which made it that more difficult to do what he needed to. He _wanted _to leave it alone, ignore the signs of dishonesty that made themselves known in the lower levels of Coruscant. It wasn't completely unheard of for a Master to have business in that area of the planet…it was just very unusual.

"Anakin?"

The young Jedi glanced up from his reading. "Yeah?"

"Did you complete that errand for Master Espella?"

Anakin didn't even pause before giving his answer. "Yes, Master. It didn't take that long." He returned his eyes to the pad.

Qui-Gon nodded, but the niggling feeling in the Force wasn't satisfied. "If I may ask, what did she want you to accomplish?"

Anakin shrugged. "She just wanted me to deliver something. I wasn't allowed to open it. Private, I guess."

"Oh." Qui-Gon looked away, his brows knitting very lightly. "Where did you go?"

Anakin's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "Why're you so interested, Master?" He paused, his features losing their harder edges, "I told you I was sorry I had to turn down the trip to Dex's."

"No, it isn't that, Padawan." Qui-Gon shook his head with a small smile. "I understand that some duties come before social gatherings."

"Alright…Then what _is _it?"

The Master studied his apprentice's countenance for a moment, searching for something he himself could not identify. After a moment, he lifted his hand. "Never mind, Anakin. You may continue with your studies."

Anakin's gaze lingered on Qui-Gon a beat longer, than he obeyed.

Qui-Gon rested his chin on his hand, fingers framing his cheek. Sometimes, he nearly regretted the depth of his experience with Padawans. Xanatos had been corrupted in part by Qui-Gon's tendency to indulge him. With Obi-Wan, he sought to avoid that grievous mistake, and hurt the boy very much in the process.

So what was he to do with Anakin? Leave him be, as he had done with Xanatos, and refuse to recognize his errors? Or analyze the situation with a measure of suspicion, the behavior that had robbed his relationship with Obi-Wan of closeness for so long?

Where was he to find a middle ground?

Two more hours found Anakin preparing for sleep, tossing his clothes in a pile and moving bare-chested toward his bed. He paused to place his saber with ever-reverent hands in a wooden holder he designed specifically for the beloved weapon.

A decade on Tatooine and a decade on Coruscant had taught him to be prepared.

There was a tapping at the door. He turned around to see his Master on the threshold. "Master?"

Qui-Gon took a breath, his keen blue eyes looking especially thoughtful--even troubled. "Padawan, I have always given you my trust."

Anakin felt a strange thrumming at his fingertips. Panic? No. Never. "I know, Master." He answered cautiously.

The man walked into the lamp lit bedroom with his arms crossed. His considerable frame threw a long shadow across the ground. "And in return, I've always assumed you would give me no reason to doubt that trust."

The apprentice's lips were like chiseled stone, pressed together. "What's wrong?"

"Anakin, I want to believe what you've said about Master Espella and that errand on the lower levels. And at the surface, I do." He glanced downward, to gather the strength needed to forge on, "But there is more to consider. More that, as a Master, I _must _consider."

The first molten sparks of anger ignited in Anakin's chest. "You think I'm lying?"

"As I've said. I don't _want _to believe that. And I still trust you." Qui-Gon leveled his eyes. "Which is why I'm allowing you the chance to clear up any…inconsistencies that may exist between the story you've told me, and the one I will be told by Master Espella herself. I went to Dex's this afternoon with Knight Kenobi. I _saw _you, in an interesting area of town to concern business with a Jedi Master. Particularly Espella, who limits herself to lightsaber instruction and rarely leaves the Temple."

Anakin didn't avert his eyes from the intimidating stare of his Master. If he was to be revealed now, he wouldn't do so in petty surrender. "If you truly trusted me, you wouldn't have to ask." His throat was bubbling up with ire, flushing his face. "You wouldn't have to run to Master Espella to hear her story!"

"I've accused you of nothing."

"Except deception, Master. A serious accusation, I would say." His fuming stare bore into Qui-Gon. "And wouldn't a true Master, a devoted Master, already know the answer?"

Before Qui-Gon could muster a reply, Anakin had torn past him, leaving the Jedi in a cold stir of air.

He sealed his eyes. "Now I know." He whispered.

Anakin had enough wits about him to grab his cloak before fleeing the apartment, and he pulled it over his half-naked form. Every step pounded in his head. His head, spinning and shouting and crying out from the pain.

__

What did you expect? The deception was real. Did you think it would never come to light?

But to combat the voice was another, a voice that sounded foreign to his own, an inflection sour and cracked.

__

You are the Chosen One. Who should you EVER have to answer to? Qui-Gon Jinn? Qui-Gon Jinn who can think of nothing but his past? Qui-Gon Jinn who runs from his Padawan in the midst of battle…

Anakin stopped abruptly, whipping his braid behind his shoulder. The wild dejection in his face turned to a tremble of pure rage.

__

His Padawan. And his past.

He went to Dex's today. With Knight Kenobi.

He felt silly for the tiny burst of surprise within him. Why should he be the least bit shocked by the connection? It was Obi-Wan Kenobi that waited in the wings, the shadow in the sun that engulfed all that Anakin loved, all that he cared about.

Anakin had been on the verge of tears. Now, they dried, replaced by something far less emotional. Far more intense.

If Chancellor Palpatine had been there in body, although he was surely at Anakin's shoulder in sinister spirit, he would have recognized the expression that overtook the young countenance.

And he would have smiled.

Obi-One's head was tipped against the back of the armchair. It was odd the pieces that came back to him, when he was lounging, and his mind was floating along the lazy lines.

From soft darkness rose lyrics from a song, the name of which he, of course, could not remember. A few of the words were a haze, but the rest shone clearly in his thoughts. Not slow, not fast, and he let the music string through like a dream.

When there was an uproarious pounding at his door, he was moments away from sleep, his half-lidded eyes shut completely.

Loathe to move, the Knight wet his lips and called, "Who is it?"

"Anakin Skywalker."

Obi-One sat up. An unexpected visitor, to say the least. But not unwelcome. Every encounter with someone from his past was another chance for discovery--although, he was a bit weary for such unearthing tonight.

He stood and made his way carefully to that place in the permanent pall where he knew the door would be, then palmed it open.

A rush of cool air came at him. For some reason, especially chilly, Obi-One observed. "Is there something you needed, Padawan Skywalker?"

"I just thought we could talk."

The tone was a little sullen, but not much different than Obi-One remembered from their previous interactions. There was the risk of awkwardness, for he was not well acquainted with the young man. But, as Qui-Gon's current apprentice, Anakin Skywalker would have at least a few things in common with Obi-One. Hopefully. "Certainly." He gestured with a hand towards the living area. "Come in."

Qui-Gon knew he should go after the boy. This was no way to leave things, even for tonight. It was not his aim to upset Anakin. On the contrary, he had hoped this would bring them closer, bridge the gap that had stretched out since their mission to Naboo.

But Anakin had perceived it as a great mistrust on Qui-Gon's part.

__

Decades as a Master of the Order. I would have liked to have been better at it by now.

He started to leave the room, but his feet were bound to the floor, as memory and sentiment bled from every crevice.

This room. These walls. Over the years, they had housed hours of laughter, learning. For him, this space represented his life's work--and the only family he could ever truly claim.

But things were changing. He could sense it, as strongly as he fought it. Anakin was not the child he had been. Nor was Qui-Gon the same man he had once been.

Yes, things were indeed changing. Qui-Gon reached out to where his apprentice's saber was cradled, his fingers dancing on the edge.

__

Have I failed again?

What other choices had he? The Force was his ultimate guide, and he could not steer from that path divinely carved. And Anakin's mistake was not deadly Although, at that moment, Qui-Gon thought that maybe his heart would be the one to fail.

Ghosts wreathed his consciousness. Eyes of gold and green, a gaze of chiseled blue ice. His only lover, Tahl. And the apprentice who fell from his shelter, to the Dark chasm beneath.

Then there were the eyes of no discernable color, the shifting seas of cerulean and jade and slate. The eyes that moved aimlessly--for they saw no direction, no distance.

__

Obi-Wan. How can Anakin understand that I must atone for that sin? How…

Qui-Gon swallowed a jabbing boulder that lodged in his throat. _Obi-Wan. Anakin._

And for some reason, ephemeral to his mind, those names brought back the moment when Anakin threw Obi-Wan to the hospital floor.

He was out the door before his loud curse could echo in the dimmed Padawan quarters.

Anakin stood in the living area of Kenobi's apartment. It was not an easy thing to do. The man's presence, a strangely prominent light within the Force, was resonating from every inch of the place. And since his first days in the Temple, Anakin had resented-even hated that presence.

He could easily explain that to himself. If ever there was a tangible enemy of his life, it was this man, who turned his back on Qui-Gon, placed Padme's life in danger due to his own ineptness. That in itself was enough to earn Anakin's mistrust. But the last straw, the breaking weight, was that neither his Master nor his wife blamed Kenobi for his severe errors. Perhaps this blindness was contagious, spreading to the minds of otherwise intelligent people.

Luckily for Anakin, he was immune to whatever draw Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to have on the rest of the universe. What he saw when he looked at the other Jedi was a failure, a lost and unworthy cause saved from exile by the scars around his eyes. If only he realized his own inferiority, and resigned himself to the shadows of this place, where he _belonged._

But then Anakin remembered-there was a long time during which Kenobi _had _remained a resident of the darkness here. It had made no difference. Qui-Gon found ways to reach him. Anakin had to admit it. His Master had drawn Kenobi out.

Yet, Anakin was more than willing to work with Qui-Gon as a team. Where it had been the Master's mistake to lead Kenobi out of the Temple's distant backdrop, it was Anakin's duty to put him back.

Even Kenobi would understand it, one day. He was never meant to receive Qui-Gon's tutelage. Destiny was not so difficult to attain, that there was an obstacle at absolutely every turn. Eventually, Anakin's Master would know it too.

So Padawan Skywalker studied the shadowed room and its occupant with an almost detached air. The rage was still very much alive, running thick and fiery through his veins. But acting purely out of anger had cost him before. This time, he would be calm.

Obi-One felt momentarily for the couch, then sat on the edge. "Sit if you like." Then, he put a hand to his head, waving the other to bring up the lights. "I'm sorry about that. It doesn't come natural anymore."

"That's alright." Anakin replied, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Anakin resisted the urge to leap right to the core of his passion. It was better to begin slowly. He had waited ten years for this moment. "Do you remember Senator Amidala?" There was the slightest tremble of emotion in his voice, "Padme?"

"Yes. The Senator from Naboo."

"I've just spoken to her today. She wanted me to extend her wishes for your complete recovery. She was pleased to hear you are regaining your past."

Obi-One smiled faintly. "Tell her I am grateful for her concern. She is a fine person."

"Yes, she is." Anakin had to breathe in deep before he continued. "I guess you might not remember, but she'll always felt a sort of…debt toward you."

A few wrinkles appeared on the Knight's forehead. "A debt? You mean because of the mind wipe?"

"That," The boy agreed, "And for what happened during the battle. After all, Master Qui-Gon was distracted trying to protect her. It's only natural she would feel a little guilt, although I think you can see that it's unfounded."

"What are you talking about?"

Anakin feigned a surprised tone. "What? You know, don't you?"

Obi-One's heart was racing in his ears. "No. I don't. I don't know what you're referring to."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought you knew. But it's not really my place--"

"What does Senator Amidala have to feel guilty about?" Obi-One was on the verge of demanding, his entire body consumed by the cold foreboding.

"I told you, I wouldn't feel right being the one to--"

"Please. Just tell me." Obi-One wrung his hands to stall their shaking.

Anakin found he did not want to smile, although the other man would have no way of knowing the sentiment garnered from the coming words. He wouldn't take pleasure in what he had to do. It went beyond that. He closed his eyes, and the faces of his mentor and his lover leapt to the second set, the ones unblinking in his mind. _For them. For me. _"Well, when Padme was shot during the Battle of Naboo, Master Qui-Gon sensed it. You two were locked in battle with the Sith. When he felt that Padme was in immediate danger, he left you."

Despite the absence of sight, the blue-green eyes flickered with disbelief. "He…left me?"

"He went to find Padme. And he left you to face the Sith alone."

Obi-One swallowed thickly. "I--I was still his apprentice then?"

"Yes. Not much longer afterwards, but that day you were." Anakin waited until he knew it had sunk in, then, "I better be going. I didn't even mean to stay _this _long. I just wanted to pass on the greeting from Senator Amidala." He strode to the door, and paused long enough to say, "Good night, Knight Kenobi." _And, let's pray, good-bye._

Obi-One heard the door close.

And inside, felt it shut him off from so many things.

The corridor was a darkened tunnel. Shadows were at Qui-Gon's back; his eyes were trained to the frail suggestion of light ahead. His mind was swarmed with morbid possibility, cold enough to freeze his body, yet simultaneously surging it with the adrenaline needed to outrun the demons at his heel.

He didn't want to believe his own theory. Gods, not when it was such a costly thing to take stock in. That he was dashing towards _that _apartment, in defense of Obi-Wan…Was he overreacting? Was he conjuring a dark pulse in Anakin that didn't exist?

In his mission to right his most terrible wrong, was he destroying both of his apprentices?

When the dust settled, would he be alone after all?

Qui-Gon took a breath, realizing, as his legs carried him through the silvery stretches of endless hallways, that his own fate in this mess was unimportant. He would take a fatal blow for Anakin _or _Obi-Wan, even if his death would ensure them but a day more.

He had harbored the image of his former apprentice not as a man, or even a loved one, but as a walking symbol of his errors. For too long, he sought out Obi-Wan in selfishness, hoping to heal his own wounds…never mind the scars marring Obi-Wan's soul, the glassy reflection of his dead eyes.

And when he reprimanded Anakin for intruding upon his personal quest, it was not to protect Obi-Wan from harm. It was to gate the boy from Dark, to save Qui-Gon from glimpsing another mistake in a student's young face.

Now, Qui-Gon knew, he never left the podium of his heart, never let himself find a new vantage point in which to view the Universe. Perhaps Anakin, intelligent, perceptive Anakin, knew that.

And maybe Obi-Wan did too.

They were chained to their Master's conscience, treading and re-treading grounds made soft by overlapping footprints, helpless to their shackled existence. For only he, Qui-Gon, could forge the key of release, so at last, they could all let it go.

__

CAN I let go?

The miles shrunk to inches, and he was standing at Obi-Wan's door, reaching with Force fingers to touch upon the signatures contained within the rooms.

__

One. He sighed, in partial relief. _Anakin isn't here._

The door disappeared in a blink, and the Master saw the Knight sitting solitary, rigidly, among the bleak furniture.

"Was there something you wanted, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon knew the younger man had sensed his arrival, and tried very hard to be pleased by the progress, though the voice was strained by weariness. "I--" He wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead, "I wanted…I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Hm." Obi-One's lips compressed slightly to allow the sound. "I'm not so sure of that myself."

The tips of Qui-Gon's boots were at the threshold of the room, but he didn't take the few steps inside. The light had been leached from the familiar face, so that he nearly melded with the shadow of the walls. The eyes were fastened to a faraway world reserved for the sightless, and the Master didn't attempt to understand just what Obi-Wan was glimpsing.

"Does Anakin speak often with the Senator?" The question rose in monotone from the taut surface of silence.

Qui-Gon swallowed. "The Senator?"

"Amidala." Obi-One elaborated softly. "Does he speak with her often?"

Qui-Gon ignored his confusion long enough to reply, "I don't believe so." His brow furrowed at the unchanging vacancy of the face, "Obi-Wan--"

"He spoke with her today. She sent her regards for my full recovery."

Qui-Gon's towering figure suddenly slumped, and pain was scrawled over the blue canvas of his eyes. "Anakin was here?"

"Yes. He left a few minutes ago."

"What did he--"

Obi-One exhaled heavily, bringing tinges of gray to his pallor in the process, and whatever motive he might have had at the beginning of their conversation deflated "I'm very tired, Master Jinn." His inflection remained quietly unaffected, "Would you mind helping me to my bed?"

Qui-Gon frowned at him, at the core of the musty shroud that had inexplicably fallen over the room. "What was Anakin doing here?"

Another weighted sigh was heard from the Knight. "Could you please help me to my bed?"

With frightened reluctance, Qui-Gon walked into the depths of the strange gloom, everything awash in a clouded palate. He stopped in front of Obi-One and looked down at the bland cast of the features. "Obi-Wan…"

Chilled fingers wrapped around his arms, and Obi-One pulled himself to his feet, as if crippled by the wear of decades of years, yet unlived.

Qui-Gon waited for him to move in the direction of his bed quarters, but he stood with the drunken patience of exhaustion-although the Master was certain the mind was not caught in the same kind of stupor as the body.

He rested a hand on Obi-One's elbow. "Tell me what's wrong."

And Obi-One's head turned away from the whisper. "Can you help me or not? I don't… I don't think I can find it on my own. Before, I had gained clarity about this place, I could steer through the rooms without grazing a table corner o-or slipping on a holopad." He shook his head, "But now, I just don't know."

"I could take you to the Healers'."

"No," He said, half-heartedly, "I'm alright.

"The fog will lift."

Qui-Gon nodded, although the other couldn't see him, and started towards the room, Obi-One leaning against him.

The bedroom was engulfed in black. Obi-One didn't bother to change its state, not even for the convenience of his guest.

"Are you feeling sick, Obi-Wan? I could contact Bant, and you wouldn't have to leave--"

"I'll be fine." Obi-One interrupted, transferring the bulk of his weight from Qui-Gon to his sleep couch, laying on his side and closing his eyes.

Qui-Gon pulled a thick quilt over him; his touch stayed a moment longer. "Will you?"

Obi-One's profile was barely there, lost in the pall of unimpeded night. It was his voice that shone through, a tarnished, sober sound. "I can't talk anymore."

And then Qui-Gon could feel the weariness overtaking the huddled form; he still couldn't resign it to a physical sense. The fight fled him. "Then sleep." His fingertips were faint against the smooth temple. "And maybe the fog _will_ leave you."

The Knight's grinding cognizance slipped away then, to isolate Qui-Gon in the shadows.


End file.
